


Dragon Fire

by Rehfan



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Animal Death, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BAMF!Q, Blood, Blow Jobs, Bruises, Coma, Dildos, Dragons, Facials, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Food Kink, Forbidden Love, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Violence, Not Really Character Death, Q Whump, Sexual Violence, Whump, face fucking, possessive!Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:56:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehfan/pseuds/Rehfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Q's realm has been threatened by a loathsome destructive dragon. He has sworn to vanquish it.</p><p>The king's bodyguard, Sir James Bond is NOT pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [melisandre013](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melisandre013/gifts).



> Many thanks to comealong_merlin (melisandre013) for the prompt!
> 
> Thank you for following me on Tumblr, my dear!

_“We shall stop this menace Ourselves.”_

Sir James Bond could still hear the king’s words and swore under his breath as he gathered his sword and scabbard. When the king made up his mind, nothing whatever could change it. He was as stubborn as the old Queen M. He had been the king’s personal bodyguard for more years than the current king had been alive and had seen his fair share of dragon fight before; he knew that battle with a beast such as that was nothing to trifle about. He had seen too many good men die at the feet of their own pride. But King Q had his own ideas as to what counted as manly honor.

He was a good king. He was faithful and true to his people and that was important, but all his life he had been lacking in physical strength. In intelligence and fortitude, the king could not be challenged. He was always the best at strategy and planning battles. But his strength of spirit did not match his physicality. If anything, he seemed to Bond to be more feminine, more delicate. King Q felt that it wasn’t fair to him and it rankled his majesty to no end. Bond could understand it, but it made him a king difficult to protect.

This dragon problem was a perfect cause to prove himself in battle – not that Bond felt his sovereign needed to. In fact, Bond thought his king to be as adequate a warrior as was necessary: he showed a good seat on a horse, his voice carried command far and wide, and he was proud of his kingdom and its people. He was an inspiration. This was all that was required of any king. But these things weren’t enough for King Q.

Bond stopped in the middle of checking his horse’s saddle to think: It seemed as though his majesty wanted to be Ares when he was more Athena. There was no shame in planning a battle, even going so far as to watch his ranks obey his command on the field. But for a king to wield a sword he could barely lift… Sir Bond shook his head with dismay. No. His king needed him. And Bond would protect him with his life.

 

~080~

 

Three day’s ride later, they came upon the forest where the beast was last reported. The king was in a bright mood when they left his king's seat in Thronemont, but now he fairly bounced in the saddle. His bright armor glinted in the sun and he smiled merrily as they entered the wood. Bond’s heart broke as he saw the gaiety of the king. The knight knew all too well the dangers of deep woods, close fighting, and a scaled demon breathing green fire.

“Come come, Sir Bond,” said the king. “You must tell Us of the old Queen and the last dragon of the realm. After all, you were there. You helped cart the beast’s head back to the castle Mardus. So… Come along! Regale your sovereign with the adventure.”

“It is nothing I choose to dwell on, sire,” said Bond soberly. “It was a massacre.”

“Just so!” said King Q unabated. “You have the experience of it. What is it like to massacre a dragon?”

Bond was silent for almost a full half-minute before responding. “My liege,” he began, reigning his horse to a halt, “That is not the massacre of which I speak.”

The king halted his steed and looked back to his trusted bodyguard. The retinue of soldiers that followed them halted at a respectful distance at a wave of the king’s hand. Q knitted his brows. “We were told that your strategy to corner and kill the beast was flawless, everyone has said so. No one can explain precisely what happened during the battle as you are the only one in the kingdom who was present-“

“Because I was the only survivor, my king,” said Bond quietly. “That is why it was a massacre.”

“And the Queen?” asked Q, “She was there, surely.”

“No sire,” said Bond. “She was at castle Mardus making ready the place where the head would sit once the animal was slain.”

“We see,” said Q, spurring his horse once more into a walk. “My predecessor wasn’t as eager to see the beast herself then.”

“Not living, anyway,” Bond said, following his sovereign deeper into the wood. “A wise decision, in my opinion.”

Q gave him a sideways glance but chose to ignore his comment. “And you beheaded the thing and brought it back all on your own?” said Q skeptically. “Quite a feat, even for you Sir Bond.”

“There was a village nearby. I brought three of my men to it and stood by while their healers attended to them. In the end, all they could do was ease their pain. They died within hours. The villagers helped me bury them and then we returned for the head. It took a specially constructed cart, six horses, and a fortnight of travel to get the fetid mass back to the castle.”

“Merciful heavens,” said Q. “It must have been a huge beast.”

“Your majesty has no idea,” muttered Bond.

“And that is why We are asking you,” said Q testily.

“Dragon slaying is a bloody business, your majesty,” said Bond. “You needn’t be as concerned with the beast’s size as you do with its other… attributes.”

“Such as?” asked Q.

“Its speed, for one,” said Bond, ducking under a low branch. The wood was getting deeper and the bright afternoon light they had been enjoying was disappearing with every tread of their horse’s hooves. “We will need to leave the horses soon, your majesty.”

“Very well,” said Q. He waived the retinue to a halt and dismounted, attendants rushing to his side to take his horse and provide him with drink. “But you will tell Us more when We make camp, Sir Bond. We will know what We need to know to conquer this beast.”

“What we need to know is everything we can learn about this particular dragon,” said Bond, dismounting. “Just as each knight and warrior has strengths and weaknesses, we must evaluate this dragon to see how it behaves.”

“Just so, Sir Bond, We are in full agreement. We shall send scouts,” said Q. He turned to his men at arms and gave orders that there be four teams of three knights each head out ahead of them in a fan and report back once they have located the dragon or when the next day's sun has set, whichever came first. If all came back with no report, then they would move ahead again, send more scouts, and wait another full day.

Bond thought the action prudent and he couldn’t suppress a grin. This was the king he loved: issuing orders, planning strategies, taking the wise and temperate course. If he weren’t sure it would get him beheaded, he would have clapped a hand on the king’s back in his joy. A full day in camp in the wood was going to provide a lot of time for the two of them to debate different battle techniques and allow for some additional training in hand-to-hand combat for his majesty. It made Bond feel better in an instant.

The king turned to Sir Bond. “You have that look again,” he said.

“Look, sire?” asked Bond.

“You have a plan,” he said.

Bond smiled. “Your majesty is correct.”

“And does that plan include to sup with one’s sovereign?” he asked.

“Indeed,” said Bond. “And we can discuss further plans as we dine.”

“We can’t wait to hear what you have to tell Us about Our dragon,” said Q and he turned to his attendants and bid them make camp.


	2. Chapter 2

Supper was finished and the king and Bond sat at table, enjoying the wine. His majesty travelled as was expected of the sovereign of the realm and the tent they occupied was of heavy, durable canvas lined with embroidered silks. Rich ermine and velvet cushions lay along one corner atop a fine couch covered in furs which served as the king’s bed. The king was sated and leaned across to his knight. “You say it’s not just size that We need to concern Ourselves with,” he began, “You say also that it is swiftness?”

“Yes, sire,” said Bond. “And strength.” He took another drink of wine. “And there’s also the little matter of whether or not a dragon can fly.”

King Q was taken aback. “We were not aware that dragons could not fly.”

“The younger ones cannot,” said Bond. “And you may well ask, your majesty, how I know these things.”

“You have read Our mind,” said the king, bemused.

“Sir Fallon was with us when we were trailing the last dragon,” said Bond. “He was seventy if he was a day, but more spry than most men my age. He remembered stumbling across the nest of a dragon in the north country. He said that newborn they do not know how to fly and they don’t seem to find it out until they are almost fully grown. If this dragon we seek were young, it would be earthbound and our task would be easier.”

“Would the young ones also be fireless?” asked Q.

Bond smiled. “No, sire. But their fire is in direct proportion to their size. All reports indicate that the one we seek is indeed of great fire.”

“And We can then safely assume that it is capable of flight,” said the king. It wasn’t a question.

“Its path of destruction alone lets us know that. I am afraid that we have our work cut out for us, your majesty,” said Bond.

“All the more reason to prepare for every eventuality,” said the king and the two of them fell into great plans for capturing a fire-breathing dragon.

The discussion took them to far into the night, servants coming and going, bringing food, paper and ink for the two to make notations and draw battle plans, maps were provided, and the king himself devised plans for several different traps and mechanisms they could use to defeat the creature. Sir Bond was most impressed with the king’s ingenuity. Once again, he was reminded of how much he loved this side of his sovereign.

They were on the same side of the table, leaning on its surface, Bond looking over his shoulder as his king drew an image of the weighted netting he hoped would prevent the creature from taking flight. Sir Bond didn’t mean to become too familiar. He loved his majesty with all his heart; he was sworn to give his life for him. He would never intentionally offend his highness. But Bond put a hand around King Q’s shoulders and the moment his skin came to contact with the fine silk, he knew he had committed a great offense. For his part, King Q stopped in mid-sentence and stiffened. Bond removed his hand at once.

“Sir Bond,” said the king, straightening his posture. “We would know your meaning.”

“My deepest apologies, your majesty,” said Bond.

“We are still awaiting an explanation, Sir Bond,” said the king. “You do not have leave to touch your sovereign at will, good knight. Explain yourself. We command it.”

Again, Bond was struck with his grace and power. This man that stood before him and rebuked him was the regal personage he was willing to give his life for. Bond fought the urge to kiss his majesty on the mouth. Instead, he knelt before him and offered: “I have no explanation, your grace, other than to say that you have reminded me why I have sworn an oath to protect you. I was moved so deeply by your majesty’s ingenuity and intelligence, I forgot myself. Rest assured that this offense will not have a twin. Please accept my most humble apology, my king.”

Q regarded him for a moment, reaching out with one hand to caress Bond’s hair. His fingertips traced around his head and along his jawline pressing gently to bring Bond’s chin up. “Do you love your king so very much?” he asked softly.

“With everything that I am, your majesty,” said Bond.

Q smiled sweetly. “And you think Us clever?”

“I have always thought so, sire,” said Bond and he swallowed hard. He had never noticed that the king’s eyes could be such a soft green.

“Then either it is the wine that affects Our senses, or some sentimentality that has entered Our heart,” said the king, “but We choose to reward your thoughtlessness.” King Q bent down and placed a soft kiss to the knight’s lips. It lingered only a moment, but Bond could feel his mouth tingle with the contact.

Were the king an ordinary man, Bond would have him in his arms seconds after the kiss ended. King Q turned from him and back to his schematics. “You may rise, sir knight,” said the king, his eyes looking over the details of the designs. “It has grown quite late. You have Our leave to retire for the evening.”

Bond got to his feet. “Thank you, my liege. And I bid you good night. Until the ‘morrow.” He bowed to the king and stepped out into the night, his heart racing.

He took a lung full of air and made his way across the camp to his own tent. Once inside, his allowed his attendants to divest him of his riding clothes and leave him with the means to wash himself before bed. His servants knew he was a private man and preferred his ablution time alone. Once clean and comfortable, he lay on his bed waiting for sleep.

His eyes closed and he saw the eager face of his king, eyes smiling, face alight with inspiration, and color up from discussion of battle and strategy. Heat spread low in his belly and Bond felt his cock harden at the thought of the king’s warmth under that fine silk, the pressure of his soft lips on his own. He breathed heavy and took hold of his hardening manhood.

Stroking slowly, he imagined his king slowly removing his clothes, exposing his skin, battle-scarred and worn. He imagined King Q’s fingertips along his spine, caressing his chest, and studying the scar on his right thigh – the one the last dragon gave him. He imagined the unimaginable – the blasphemous: the king stooping low and placing his lips along the mark, sealing it, healing it. He imagined the reverence of it and his stroke tightened, his breath stuttering.

In his mind’s eye, he cupped his sovereign’s face, causing him to stand, and kissed him as deeply as he dared. He felt the king’s arms about his chest, pulling him close. His fingers ached to feel the king’s hair, carding through what he imagined to be the thickest, softest locks he would ever have the privilege to touch. His balls tightened. His back arched. He wanted to hear his king moan his name. He wanted to be able to call the king by his name, no titles, no social expectations of formality. This wasn’t court. This was two men who wanted each other more than anything else.

Bond felt his orgasm build and rise and crest and light his soul up from within. He strained as he came, biting his lip and cumming all over his chest, doing his best not to make a sound that would alert the guard at his door. He would have given anything to say Q’s name at that exact moment.

Before sleep claimed him, he consoled himself with the fact that he was still the king’s most trusted bodyguard. It was as close as he would ever get to the man beneath the crown and that would have to do.


	3. Chapter 3

King Q arose to the sound of his attendants milling about. They greeted him in the ordinary manner and told him that the scouts had sent word via raven that they had seen no dragon. As he washed his face and they dressed him, he reflected upon how Bond would take the news. Their discussion last night had been lively. He smiled at the memory. They had become rather familiar with one another and when Bond touched him…

“Anything the matter, sire?” asked one of his attendants.

“Nothing of consequence,” he said. “Is breakfast prepared?”

“All is in readiness, sire,” said one of his attendants and gestured to a table in the next section of the king’s tent. He ate alone, listening to the camp noises outside and wondering where Sir Bond was. He suspected the knight was up before himself, but didn’t see that as anything to be ashamed of. The king slept when he pleased and rose when he wished. Granted, nothing would get done if the realm had a lazy monarch at its helm. Q remembered fondly the days of his youth spent rising early – before all others – and spending his mornings in the tower with the soldiers of the guard. He listened with rapt attention to their stories of ghosts and goblins that would slink about beyond the walls; he loved their tales of battles and campaigns. It fired his imagination and made the sunrise over the battlements the symbol of a day to treasure, for the next was never guaranteed.

His later years saw too much focus on education, learning the ways of a sovereign monarch, becoming adept at politics and religious affairs. It was tedious, but it couldn’t be helped; a king must be a king. And Q wanted to be the best king he could for his people.

He heard the faint clang of wood against wood and gave a questioning look to his wine steward. “Your soldiers practice, sire,” said the boy. This piqued the king’s curiosity.

The king made his way out of his tent and across the encampment toward the sounds. As he approached, he noticed the other soldiers standing about watching as two men tousled in the center. They parted instantly with panicked bows, each man falling silent as the presence of the king was detected. In the centre, too busy concentrating to notice the hush that was slowly spreading around them, were Sir Bond and Sir Tanner, striking each other with long sticks as thick as a cook’s rolling dowel and three times the length. They wore mail over simple shirts and small padded pieces of armor over their chests and arms to soften any landed blows. Each man had a small wooden shield strapped to his arm and a visor-less helmet of similar materials to the chest armor.

Sweat poured down their brows with their exertion as they struck, leapt, dodged, turned and wove about each other in a violent hypnotic dance. With strokes so quick the king couldn’t follow them, Bond struck Tanner three times in the chest, each blow knocking the wind out of the knight. Sir Bond followed it up with a sweep of his leg out and to the side which Sir Tanner effectively tripped over. He landed hard on his back and gasping for breath. All the soldiers applauded, the king smiling proudly.

Bond looked the crowd ‘round and his face fell when he saw the king. Immediately, he knelt. All the soldiers followed his lead. “Your majesty,” said Sir Bond. “Did we wake you?”

“Wake Us?” asked Q. “Not at all, good sir knight. We have been awake for some time. Do you think We can sleep past the cock crow when Our realm is in such peril?”

“No, your majesty. I only meant-“

“We see what you meant,” said Q patiently. “You wished to not disturb Us if We slumbered. We understand.”

“Precisely, my liege,” said Bond. He was still kneeling, but it was no matter to Bond. He was happy to kneel forever for his king.

Q meandered into the circle. “Sir Tanner,” said the king. “We hope you are not too unwell. Sir Bond knows his business and your poor body is his proof.”

“N- no, your majesty,” replied Tanner, “I am quite well and at your service.” He crawled to a kneeling position as quickly as his body would allow him. Once there, he wove unsteadily.

“Have this man seen to immediately,” ordered the king. “Go with them, Sir Tanner, and enjoy a well-earned rest.” The king smiled graciously at his knight.

Tanner blushed but did as his king bid him. “Thank you, sire. Only mark that I am as fighting ready as needs be – just as soon as his majesty commands.”

“We have no doubts,” called the king to Tanner’s retreating figure. The soldiers that were about were dismissed with a wave of his hand and the word: “Rise.” He turned to Sir Bond and picked up Tanner’s stick which had fallen near him. “This is meant to imitate the arming sword We wear?”

Bond nodded. “Aye, sire. We use it for practice.”

“We were trained as a young man,” said Q absently. “We never cared for it. But We expect We still remember everything We need to.”

“If your majesty would care to, I’d be happy to remind his majesty of his old lessons,” offered Bond.

Q gave the sweat-soaked soldier an evaluating stare. Several minutes went by during which the king circled Bond twice, the heavy practice sword still in his hands. Finally, the king said: “We would be most grateful.”

“His majesty will pardon me,” said Bond, “but if this lesson is to begin immediately, his majesty will want to change his attire.”

Q looked down at his loose robe and embroidered silks. He smiled at Bond. “His majesty will pardon you, Sir Bond. And We will alter Our attire to suit the occasion.” He turned to go and stopped. “Although…,” he began, turning back, “We will perhaps need your assistance with the enterprise.”

Bond bowed once and said: “It would be my honor, sire.”

 

~080~

 

The king stood stripped to the waist, only a thin piece of cloth around his groin protecting him from full nudity. He shivered involuntarily. Bond wanted to reach out and touch him, to hold him close and warm his flesh with his own heat - but he didn’t dare. Having spent company with soldiers his whole life, Bond was only familiar with the bodies of hardened men, battle scarred, and sun-tanned. Standing there in almost nothing, Q looked almost effeminate; he looked like someone a soldier would meet in the brothel, not the battlefield. He instantly felt a pang of protectiveness shoot through him. His majesty wouldn’t see battle face to face if he could help it.

Bond commanded the servants to attire the king for practice, but with his sovereign’s safety and protection ever in mind, he made them double up on the undershirts, use a mail hauberk with the tightest links they could find and adding a coif over his royal head – something that he and Tanner had gone without. To that he had added plate, as opposed to the lighter padded armor he and Tanner wore.

“Are you coddling Us, Sir Bond?” asked Q as the heavier armor was attached.

“My first priority is always your safety, your highness,” said Bond.

Q gave him a cold stare. “We are merely practicing with wooden sticks, good sir knight. We hardly think plate necessary.”

“As you wish, your grace,” said Bond, bowing low and gesturing to the attendants. Much to Bond’s chagrin, the king was dressed in much the same manner he and Tanner had been, the only allowance the king gave toward any extra protection was the mail coif that went over his head and underneath the helmet. They chose to practice away from the prying eyes of the camp, only two servants in attendance to provide them with wine or food should they call for it.

Bond handed the king his weapon and stepped back. The king raised the sword, the weight of the wood causing Q’s arm to waver a bit. He gripped it with both hands. “No, your majesty,” said Bond. “One hand. Like so.” And he demonstrated the proper stance.

Q attempted to copy, determined not to complain. His arm had other plans and the sword tip fell to the ground. “The stick is heavier than Our sword, methinks,” said the king.

“It is as heavy as is required for building strength, sire so that the sword becomes a part of your arm,” said Bond. “You can’t let go of your arm, you shouldn’t let go of the sword.”

Q smirked. “That sounds familiar,” he muttered to himself. To Bond he said: “You remind Us of Our old teacher. He was full of platitudes.”

“Not a platitude, your majesty,” said Bond. “A cliché in sword instruction circles perhaps, but the description has meaning. If you let go of your sword in battle you are defenseless. Therefore it is necessary to think of the sword as a natural extension of the body. This way, you can never become defenseless.”

“Very well,” said Q. He lifted the sword again, hefting its weight and awaiting Bond’s next instruction.

The lesson went rapidly, Bond reacquainting his king with all the old lessons and teaching him some new ones along the way. At one point it was necessary that Bond touch his king in order to correct his form. Bond hesitated.

“What is it, Sir Bond?” asked the king, holding what he thought was the correct pose.

“I require your majesty’s permission to touch his royal person, sire,” said Bond.

Q blinked at him. They had been at this for more than two hours and he was becoming fatigued. His temper was short, as a result. “Yes yes,” he said impatiently. “Get on with it.”

Bond put down his stick and stood behind his king, taking him by the shoulders. His hands were ungloved and he sensed the wiry strength of his monarch beneath the mail hauberk. He pushed the sovereign’s shoulders into the correct position and then took hold of his hips. He maneuvered them where he needed them and stood back, walking around the king with an evaluating look. “That’s much better, your majesty,” remarked Bond. “Place your weight back on your heels. There. Do you feel that strain in the thighs as opposed to the back?” The king nodded, his brow beading with sweat as he concentrated on holding the position. “Excellent work, your majesty. You can relax if you wish, sire.”

The stick point smacked the ground with a thud and Q straightened and took a breath. “I can’t imagine doing all this with full armor,” he remarked.

Bond looked at him curiously. He had never heard his king refer to himself in the first person before. “Sire?” he said, hoping the king would spot his error.

“Yes, Sir Bond?” said the king, removing his gloves.

“Don’t you mean: “We can’t imagine doing all of that with full armor?”” offered Bond hopefully.

Q thought a moment and then waived a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes of course,” he said. Bond chalked the slip-up to simple fatigue. King Q walked over and practically collapsed into one of the chairs the servants had provided for Bond and the king. He removed the helmet, bade the wine steward to leave the pitcher of wine and waived off the servants. The table was laid with dried meat and cheese. The king ate hungrily. Bond sat at his side.

“If his majesty would like, I-“

“Q,” said the king.

“I’m sorry, your majesty but-“

“Q,” repeated the king. “Call Us Q when we’re alone. We feel that if We shall die at the will of this dragon, We will do so in the company of one whom We could truly say was Our friend.”

Bond was moved beyond words. He cast about for the right sentiment to sum up the honor that the king was bestowing upon him, but found none. In the end, he simply nodded and lowered his eyes.

Q smiled. “Have We been a good pupil?”

“Exemplary, sire,” said Bond. His eyes flickered up to meet the king’s and he grinned.

“Then you have been an excellent teacher,” said Q. “And We shall reward you with food.” He held the pitcher of wine aloft and said: “And with wine poured from Our own hand.” He filled Bond’s chalice to brimming, followed by his own.

A silence of several minutes passed between them as they each caught their breath and fed themselves. “Are you so convinced that you will die fighting this dragon, my liege?” asked Bond quietly.

“I can barely hold a wooden sword,” said Q. “I have no doubt that when we do encounter the beast, I will not last long if I am to fight it head-on.”

“Nor would any man alone,” said Bond. “But together, with the small band we have here and a clever plan, we can conquer the world, my sovereign.”

Q couldn’t help but smile. “We appreciate your sentiment, James. And We did ask you to call Us Q.”

“Old habits, I’m afraid,” said Bond. “I’ll try to remember… Q. My apologies.”

A thrill went through the king when Bond uttered his name. He grinned at Bond. “It is well with us, James. We thank you.” And he placed a hand on Bond’s knee.

“Q…” said Bond breathlessly.

The king was looking at him in such a way as to make Bond salivate. “Sire… by your leave-“

“Yes, James,” said Q.

Bond leaned in slowly and kissed his king on the mouth. Heaven never held such bliss as was in that small gesture of love and longing. Bond cupped the king’s face with his hands and deepened the kiss. The effect of wine, warm and heady, pervaded Bond’s senses; it was the taste of it on his king’s tongue, the touch of that organ against his own, and the slow languorous undulation of their lips together and apart that caused Bond’s head to spin. Here was everything he wanted, everything he never knew he needed, and Bond let the kiss draw out longer.

The king was responding in kind. He was amazed at the softness of touch of which Bond was capable. He had expected this to be rough and Q found himself more than a little aroused by the combination of ruthless killer and tender lover. He melted into Bond’s hands. He had never realized that he was so starved for the caress of another person and Bond’s touch was perfect. He wrapped one hand around Bond’s head and placed the other on the man’s forearm, not pulling him away, but resting it there, encouragingly. As the kiss broke and blended into another, Q let out a low moan that came to him unbidden. Suddenly, Bond’s kiss was gone. “Have I hurt you, sire?” he asked.

“No, James,” said Q. “Please…” And he leaned in for more. Bond was all too happy to provide him with another taste.

Their kiss was interrupted by shouting from the camp. Someone was coming toward them and they broke apart just before Sir Tanner came around the corner. “Sire!” He fell to his knee. “A raven has brought word. One of our scouting parties was attacked, highness.”

“Dragon?” asked the king, rising to his feet.

“As you say, sire,” replied Sir Tanner. “The raven carrying the message has died. Its wings were singed a bit and it was covered in soot. The paper was also singed, but-“

“Show me,” said the king.

He handed the message to the king, bowing. Q inspected the message and looked to Bond. “It seems they have spotted the animal in the northwest, not a day’s ride away.”

“And we’ve already wasted half the day here,” said Bond, disgusted. “By the time we break camp…”

“No,” said the king. “We have a better idea.” He turned to the knight who awaited his sovereign’s orders in disciplined silence. “Sir Tanner, send a raven to each of the remaining parties. Instruct them that We wish for them to head to the northwest, chasing the trail of the former scouting party. Tell them to locate survivors, if any, and stay at a distance from the beast, but mark – keep the beast in their sights ever. We shall break camp at dawn’s first light and join them there. They are not to harm the beast themselves, merely to observe it, making note of its habits and movements. We would know this enemy well. Tell them to keep still and watch. We will join them before the setting of the next sun.” He dismissed Sir Tanner with a wave.

“Very prudent, my king,” said Bond as soon as Sir Tanner had disappeared.

Q smiled at him and placed a soft kiss on his mouth. “Come, my good knight. We must prepare to encounter a dragon.” He walked to the clearing and picked up his fighting stick. “Now where were we?”


	4. Chapter 4

“What?” said Sir Bond. He had been roused in his sleep by a shake of his foot. He sat up but was still bewildered by his surroundings.

“James,” said a whisper.

Bond’s head cleared and he beheld his sovereign standing before him in the low torchlight. “Sire? Is something wrong? Has the beast found us?”

“No, James,” said the king. Bond looked around. His tent was empty. Even the shadow of the door guards was no longer there.

“Sire?” Bond asked.

“We’ve sent them away,” replied the king. He sat on the side of Bond’s cot and put out a hand to stroke his face.

“I don’t understand, your grace,” said Bond.

The king leaned in a kissed him. “We journey all day tomorrow to find a killer of men. There will be no other time. Should We die…”

“Your majesty-,“ began Bond. A look from the king changed his thought: “Q… You shall not die while I yet live. I won’t permit it.”

Q smiled gently. “Thank you for your pledge, James; but as great a warrior as you are, you cannot hope to keep that promise. Still… We thank you.” Warmth touched Bond’s lips once more and he tilted his head to draw Q in deeper. The monarch accepted his invitation and let his tongue play along Bond’s lips. Bond snaked a hand behind his king’s head, fingers carding through hair so thick and soft it was hardly to be credited. Tongues caressed, arms enfolded; Q pressed his body close to Bond’s; his royal highness seemed to be seeking its warmth in the chill night.

Bond lifted the bear skin that served as his bed covering and Q slipped beneath like a ghost, curling into Bond’s body. “Q…” reverently whispered Bond.

Bond’s instinct to protect his master was never more satisfied as in that moment. To have that precious man so close and needing him, his soft lips and gentle skin pressed up against him, exploring and wanting, letting him know that Bond’s touch was more than welcome. Emboldened, he let himself go and placed a wanton kiss on the man’s ruby lips. He moved over him, letting the weight of his body rest gently on the king’s royal person, not to crush, but to create a warm solid place to which his sovereign could cling. And he could feel the man doing just that.

“Sir Bond?” said a voice. “It is time to rise, sir.”

This couldn’t be happening. How would anyone dare to interrupt the king and him at this hour? He felt a small tap at his lower leg. “Sir Bond?” repeated the voice. “Please, sir. The men are here to take the tent down. We must hurry, sir.”

Bond groaned. _It was a goddamned dream. Son of a whore._

He slowly turned in his cot to face his attendant’s worried face. “Fine, Jacob. I’m up.” He ran a hand over his face. “Bring me a bowl of water.”

 

~080~

 

As the noises of the decamping surrounded him, Bond crossed the clearing to his sovereign’s tent, praying that the king would have no inkling of his near-dawn dream. He felt as though he were wearing his lasciviousness on his chest like a coat of arms. It was a weight on him.

“How is it with you, good sir knight?” asked the king. He was up, dressed, and fed; his attendants were outfitting his royal person for light battle: leathers and heavy cloaks.

Bond bowed to his king. “I am well, your majesty.”

“We are pleased to hear it for We were thinking that the camp could follow behind whilst you and I and Our king’s guard and soldiers could ride ahead. We have brave men out there who need Our royal support.”

“Indeed, your majesty,” said Bond. “As always you are appropriate in your measures.”

“We are happy that you agree, Sir Bond,” said King Q as he stepped away from his attendants. “We have a squire to see to Our needs on the road ahead. I suggest you gather yours and make ready your steed. We do not wish to waste time. We plan to depart as the sun comes up over the horizon.”

Bond bowed curtly. “As you wish, sire.”

“And Sir Bond?” said the king. Bond looked up from his bow. The attendants had gone and Q smiled softy at him. “We have had pleasant dreams last night. We wish to thank you.” And the king wrapped a leather-gauntleted hand behind Bond’s head and pulled him in for a soft kiss. “Good morning, James.” The king smiled and walked away out of his tent and toward his horse.

 

~080~

 

Bond sat near his second-in-command, Sir Trevelyan and tried not to stew. The king was hosting Sir Tanner at the head of their party; before him had been Sir Mallory. Six hour’s journey made and the king had yet to even glance his way. He seemed to be having conversation on all sorts of topics and Sir Bond tried not to actually growl when Sir Tanner made the king laugh over something.

He did his best to be reasonable about it: on any long campaign a good king would allow all his men in equal turn to keep company with him. This was a good practice and the former Queen M had observed it as well. So it should have been no surprise to Sir Bond if the current king had adopted the idea from her. He only wondered when he would next get a chance to spend with his majesty.

His mind kept harping on his dream. He remembered the bedside chat as though it had really happened. He recalled the taste of the kiss and the feel of the flesh. He was so enamored, so… in love. And then it struck him like an axe blow: he was indeed in love with that beautifully delicate man riding just ahead of him. It had crept upon him so slowly that he mistook it for duty, loyalty, faithfulness, and fealty.

Years before at his coronation, he saw that beautiful creature stand before them crowned and knelt in reverence, even then he knew that he must have been in love with Q. Of course, his majesty was beautiful; this is a thing no one would deny. But there was a quality of depth of soul, of spirit, and a magnificence of heart-

“Sir Bond, have you gone deaf?” asked Sir Trevelyan.

“What? No, sir. I crave your pardon. What was it you said?” replied Bond, shaken from his reverie and concentrating anew on the path ahead.

“I asked when his majesty planned on calling you to his side,” repeated the knight. “You have been spending a bit more time with him as of late.”

“Have I?” asked Bond nonchalantly.

“You know you have,” replied Sir Trevelyan. He sidled his horse closer to his friend. “Word is that his majesty has found favor with you.”

“Oh? Do you think he’ll grant me a knighthood?” smirked Bond.

“Get away, you whoreson!” said Trevelyan. “No, you addle-brained idiot. They say that the king will make you his successor. Is there truth to that?”

Bond looked at Trevelyan, shocked. “What do you say?” he sputtered. “How in heaven’s name- Where in the world- Bless my soul, that’s the best tale I’ve heard you tell in a long while, Sir Trevelyan. Tell us another! Will the king sprout a tail and begin to breathe fire when he first spies the dragon? Will it snow next summer? Do you think you can stay sober for more than a fortnight?”

“That’s enough from the likes of you, Bond!” said Trevelyan. “I see what you say: you would have me think there’s nothing to it, that the king has not selected a successor. I know that to be false. Sir Tanner has made mention that the king has arranged it. It leaves only the naming of the fellow, for he has no progeny. My money’s on you.”

“So I’m to be a wager, eh?” asked Bond. “And what tidy sum would you care to lose to this bet, Sir Trevelyan. Because I assure you, you will lose.”

“Right then,” said the knight. “Whom do you suspect it will be then?”

“I think that- Wait. Why are you so interested anyway?” asked Bond, eyeing the knight suspiciously. “Why all sudden concern for who sits upon the throne? Is the living king ahead of you so repugnant a figure?”

“Nay nay!” said Trevelyan. “I say nay. The king is a fine king, a good king, wise for his years – and may he have many more – but we travel into a dark battle from which many of us may not survive. I only wonder to whom I pledge my fealty if our beloved monarch should fall to the beast.”

“The king will not die while I yet live,” said Bond grimly.

“So say you, but you are but a man,” reasoned Trevelyan, “and the king – despite his royal lineage and high appointment by God – he is but a man also. We are all mere blood, flesh, and bone and with limited life on this earth. Should the king die-“

“He will not,” said Bond.

“Yes, but should he-“

“ _He will NOT_ ,” said Bond. The parade stopped. Bond faced Sir Trevelyan full on and practically turned in his saddle. His horse stopped itself so as not to bump into the standard bearer’s steed ahead of it. Out of the corner of his eye, Bond saw the king turning back in his saddle to regard them.

Sir Trevelyan looked nervously from Sir Bond’s hard glare to his sovereign and back again. He smiled weakly at the king. “Crave pardon, your majesty,” he said.

“What is the matter?” asked the king.

“Naught more than a difference of opinion, your grace,” said Trevelyan cheerfully.

Q looked to the other knight. “Sir Bond?” he said.

“Your grace?” said Bond, slowly tearing his eye from the knight to his king.

“You will ride with Us,” said the king. He spoke a few low words to Sir Tanner and the knight bowed and moved his mount to join the others behind the bannermen. Bond moved his horse beside the king and with one last angry glance back at Sir Trevelyan, the company rode on.

Several minutes passed in which the two men said nothing. Bond knew that the king was curious about the conversation, but kept silent. He did not want his king to think Sir Trevelyan disloyal.

“Wine?” said the king. He held out a skin flask. “The journey is not near over and you look weary, good sir knight.”

“I thank you, my king,” said Bond as he made a small bow and took the flask. He drank deeply and felt the wine warm his innards. He handed the flask back to the king.

The monarch took a smaller swig, corked it, and replaced it on his hip. “It is of concern to Us?” asked the king.

“Is what- Oh… No, your majesty,” said Bond. “As Sir Trevelyan said: merely a difference of opinion.”

“Strong opinion,” said the king. He never looked at Bond, a thing which the knight found profoundly frustrating.

“I suppose, your grace,” said Bond.

“Tell Us what you feel so strongly about, Sir Bond,” said the monarch. He gave Bond a little side glance and a wry smile. “We seem to think that it was a discussion of successions and rulers, yes?”

Bond stopped his tongue before it could ask how the king knew these things and said instead: “Your majesty is well-informed.”

Q smiled and said cryptically: “The birds tell Us things.”

“On the wing, it seems,” said Bond.

“Just so,” agreed the king. “So you will tell Us what we ask, yes?”

“I hesitate only that no ill thoughts fall upon Sir Trevelyan,” said Bond carefully.

“Ill thoughts?” repeated the king. “We hold no ill thoughts about any of Our retinue. Our soldiers are loyal to the one that pays them and shows them the greatest kindness and support. We have done so for as long as We have reigned. We trust Our army to the man.”

“No one should ever be trusted completely, your grace,” said Bond.

“Oh?” asked King Q, the sly smile not leaving his face. “And would you tell Us whom to trust? Or should We doubt even the great Captain of the King’s Guard himself?”

“As Captain, I am faithful to the crown and the head it rests upon,” said Bond.

“And as a man?” asked the king.

Bond looked dead ahead and felt his cheeks warm. “As a man, I can only follow my heart.”

“And what is your heart’s eye set upon?” asked the king.

“Upon the one it loves, your grace,” said Bond quietly.

“And whom does your heart love?” asked the king. He now looked pointedly at the knight.

Bond looked back at his sovereign and in a clear voice said: “England.”

The king sidled his horse closer to Bond and looked ahead. They rode for another moment side by side, each man looking to the woodland in front of them. Over the sound of the company behind them crunching through the dead leaves in a carpet beneath their horse’s hooves, Bond heard the king whisper: “We are England.”

Bond didn’t even dare to smile, but he wanted to. “I know, your grace,” he replied.

Another few minutes passed during which time both men attempted not to laugh out loud with joy. Bond had never wanted to kiss his sovereign so badly than at that exact moment, but he didn’t flinch. He simply rode along and listened to his heart sing.

“You still have not told Us what you and Sir Trevelyan were discussing,” said King Q.

Bond inwardly groaned. “He was interested in your successor, your grace, as you surmised.”

“Our successor.” The king shook his head. “Does he think We are a walking dead man already? Have they lit Our pyre and We are unaware?”

“Of course not, your grace,” said Bond, “only think that we travel to a dangerous battlefield. We have discussed this at length, have we not? He was only interested in my speculation as to who would succeed you on the throne should you-“ He couldn’t finish the sentence. The thought was too painful for him.

“Should We perish from this earth,” the king finished.

“Aye, sire,” said Bond.

The king sighed. “No man is ever happy with what he has. He always goes looking for the next thing and the next to follow that.” He took a moment to sigh again. “Sir Trevelyan is an excellent soldier. He is the only one that We would dare compare with your prowess in battle. Yet, he is too flighty. He is sometimes too heavy-handed. We see that as a good quality in a soldier where one must be a blunt instrument, but a terrible quality in a ruler of men, where some form of delicacy is required. If he has thoughts-“

“Oh no, sire,” said Bond. “He has no desire, from what I could tell – or designs – on your crown. No. He has no interest, I believe. Not that I think him a bad man; on the contrary, I know him to be a good man and a great soldier. I simply believe him to be too lazy for the job.”

King Q laughed loud and long at Bond’s frankness. “You do speak truth plainly, do you not, Sir Bond?”

“I do, your grace,” admitted Bond. “But I say these things so that we are clearly understood, your majesty and I.”

“We are understood,” said King Q, wiping a tear. “Now will you tell Us how you came to shout at Our knight?”

“Sir Trevelyan wanted me to suggest a possible successor,” said Bond. “He had thought it would be me, but he is very wrong.”

“Is he?” asked the king. The sly grin had returned. Bond decided that he liked that grin very much.

“Only your majesty knows the truth of the matter,” said Bond.

“Indeed,” said the king. “And We shall keep Our own council when it comes to it. But pray, tell Us what you have said.”

“I had said nothing for Sir Trevelyan had bid me think of you dead first,” said Bond. “He kept on, urging me to forsake my king who was seated astride his mount a mere two yards distant from us, and imagine the next head to wear the crown. I told him what I told you: “You will not die while I yet live.””

King Q paused a moment and said: “You have never spoken those words to Us directly, Sir Bond. The sentiment has always been there in your actions, to be sure, but We are certain that you have never stated something so candidly before as regards Our royal person.”

Bond blushed. That’s what he had said in his dream. _Of all the stupid-_

“N-no, your majesty?” said Bond. “Well we- I mean- I had meant to. I am loyal to you and your reign, my liege, and I thought it bordering on traitorous to even imagine my king dead before his time. Your majesty will reign forever, if it is within my power to prevent Death from taking you from me- from England, that is.” Bond felt himself blushing furiously. He hated himself for it.

“We see,” said the king quietly. He seemed a tad awestruck at Bond’s clumsy admission. “We thank you, good sir knight.” And after a few minutes of awkward silence, they changed the conversation, discussing various other topics that didn’t make them want to caress and kiss and cling to one another for the rest of their lives.


	5. Chapter 5

It took the better part of a day, but they met up with the small band of scouts just after the sunrise of the following day. All in the party were exhausted and arrangements were made for sleep; tents were being erected. But upon arrival, with the possibility of the dragon within a small distance, the king found his second wind. “Tell Us all that you know,” he commanded the scout commander.

The man gave a bow of obedience and spoke: “It lies over the next ridge, past a small valley, and inside a cave halfway up the first mountain. We think it sleeps, your highness. It hasn’t stirred. We see small plumes of smoke emanating from the entrance.” As he spoke he ushered the king to a viewpoint at the top of the forested ridge. From there King Q and Sir Bond could see a small stream at the bottom of the valley, made small by their distance from it. In truth it was a half-league in width and would need to be forged once reached. The slope from their position to it was gradual, but the shore on the other side was scrub land and hard rock leading up to a craggy cliff face.

“It sleeps at the foot of the Iron Hills, your grace,” said Bond. The range beyond the cliff was vast and known for treacherous passes and avalanches. They would not only need to forge the river but also climb the kilometer-high cliff to gain access to the base of the mountain. And then, that only left the problem of climbing the mountain itself to confront a fire-breathing dragon.

“We have the means of crossing the river below?” asked the king.

“We do, your grace,” said the commander. “We have anticipated the need and began to build the raft yesterday. It isn’t to compare with your royal barge, your majesty-“

The king raised a hand. “No matter. We shall make do with what We have. How much longer will it take and how many under Our command will it carry?”

“No more than four men in full armor at one time, your grace,” said the commander. “It should be ready by this evening.”

The king set orders for the scout commander: “Set half of all the able-bodied men to helping construct more rafts and the other half to sleeping. Once a labor of four hour’s time has gone by, the men are then ordered to switch off, the first team resting while the others finish the task. Our party has gotten no rest this past day and will need their strength.” He turned from the ridge and picked his way through the dense forest back to the camp. “How are your men, commander? Ready to fight?”

“All but two of the scouts are well and ready to do your grace’s bidding, your majesty,” said the commander soberly. “The two who found the beast have succumbed to their injuries this past night.”

The king turned at this news. “We are heartily sorry to hear this,” he said. “We shall pray for their souls and fight in their memory. Their names?”

“Lord Fenrick Southerby and Randall, son of Lord Farr,” replied the soldier.

“We shall dispatch ravens to their houses with Our condolences,” said the king. He turned thoughtfully back toward the camp and said nothing further until he found a squire who could send the death notices to the families.

As soon as the squire ran off to do the king’s bidding, Sir Bond spoke to his sovereign. “Sire, you can’t stop the world every time you lose a soldier. If you did that, no fighting would get done. And in the thick of battle-“

Again the king held up a hand for silence. “Yet We are not presently in the thick of battle, Sir Bond. And while there is time to remember the dead who have sacrificed their lives for the good of the realm, then We shall take what time is necessary to pay homage to Our honored dead.” He faced Bond as sounds of the camp surrounded them. “We realize that you are the authority on the battlefield, sir. But until We are actually on a battlefield, We shall do as We see fit to rule and rule well.”

Bond bowed reverently. “Apologies, your grace. Of course you will do as you must. Please forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Sir Bond,”’ said the king. He stretched and yawned. “We seem to require rest,” he remarked.

“Agreed, your grace,” said Bond. “You should rest before your grace fords a stream, climbs a cliff, and kills a dragon.”

“And perhaps We break Our fast after Our rest. A king can’t kill a dragon on an empty stomach,” mused the king as he made his way toward his royal tent. Bond shook his head as his sovereign walked off. He was going to have a hell of a time giving that man orders in the field. And if the king didn’t listen to what he had to say, it was highly likely that he would be killed.

He turned to go oversee the raft buildings when he heard the king call his name. “Sire?” he asked as he rushed off to the tent. The camp bustle kept everyone away: servants were erecting other tents, setting table for those who were hungry, soldiers were starting fires and fortifying the perimeter of the camp, still others went to assist in the building of the raft and construct more per the king’s order. A few of the soldiers chosen for a bit of kip bed down where they could or in those tents that went up after the king’s.  They were some two hundred strong and they were all busy doing something away from the presence of their sovereign and his personal bodyguard.

“We wish to gain your thoughts on the dragon’s lair, Sir Bond,” said the king. He sat on a chair beside his comfortable couch and motioned with his hand toward the couch with its pillows and furs so that Sir Bond could sit.

“I was under the impression that your majesty was going to sleep,” said Bond, sitting on the barest edge of the couch so as not to soil his majesty’s fur coverings.

“We will,” said the king with a small smile. “In time.” He noticed Bond’s discomfort. “You may recline if you wish, Sir Bond. We are certain that you are weary. You have ridden as far as We have and heaven knows that We are completely fatigued.”

“All the more reason for me to leave your majesty’s presence and let your highness get his rest,” said Bond. “We can discuss this after you are less drained, your grace.”

Q looked at Bond with that same small smile. Finally, he rose and went to the tent opening. Bond heard him shout an order to two soldiers, making them guard the tent, telling them that he didn’t wish to be disturbed. He came back and bade the knight sit. To Bond’s great surprise, the king knelt before him and began to unfasten his boots. “What-?” began Bond.

“Shh…” said the king, “if my servants get wind that I can do for myself and others, it might start a revolt.”

“You mean “We”, don’t you, sire?” asked Bond, once again noticing the king’s choice of pronoun wasn’t fitting. He dumbly allowed himself to be divested of his boots by royal hands. His brain kicked in after a minute. “My liege, please allow me.” He reached down for his own bootstraps but the king grabbed Bond’s hands to stop him. He finished his work without further interruption from his most precious knight and Bond thought better of stopping the man when he reached for his scabbard belt and jerkin toggles.

“You are too tired to manage it, good sir knight,” explained the king. Bond was down to his cotton shift and leather breeches in minutes. His breath was shallow and ragged by the time the king finished. The monarch looked pleased and flushed.

“Q…” Bond said softly.

Q closed his eyes and smiled. “There it is,” he said. “The sweet singing of angels.”

Bond leaned in close. “Q…” he whispered. Q caught his lips with his own mouth and tasted the wine of his lover as he pressed himself against Bond. Their bodies came together and fell backward against the soft furs on the couch. Bond let his hands roam free over Q’s leather breeches and buckskin jerkin, feeling the monarch writhe and hearing him moan. It was bliss. The press of Q’s weight against him, the feel of his soft hair in his hands, and the sound of his small keening noises against his mouth, all were as sweet as any dream Bond could ever have – no, sweeter.

“Stay with me, James,” Q breathed. “Sleep here with me.”

“Your grace, I-“

Q cut him off with another kiss, licking against his lips, Bond granting him access with a low moan. Velvet tongues tangled and Bond felt his head swim, his argument against staying in the royal tent forgotten. Their lives were probably forfeit at any event, Bond thought as he felt his building erection pressing against his leather trousers. This was probably the last bit of comfort they could both expect for the rest of their lives and Bond wanted it to count for something. He pushed up against Q in an effort to reposition them both on the couch properly and Q took the opportunity to remove his own clothing.

Bond sat up to help his sovereign when Q stopped him with a shake of his head. “It’s a liberty I rarely get, James. Let me do it alone.” His nimble fingers worked the toggles slowly, unaccustomed to the task, but not totally ignorant of the result desired. Off came the jerkin, revealing the light mail hauberk he had donned for Bond’s peace of mind. He divested himself of the mail, sword, belts, boots, until he was in his leather breeches and the silken undershirt he had worn beneath the mail was open at the throat. Bond couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

The king smiled sweetly as he mounted the soldier, thighs trapping Bond’s hips on either side. When the king sat on Bond’s manhood, swollen with desire, the man nearly cried out – but for remembering the guard at the door at the last moment. Q couldn’t look more pleased. He moved his hips in a slow circular undulation and when Bond put a fist to his mouth to stifle a cry, Q let out a soft laugh. He leaned over his bodyguard, a hand to either side of the man’s face and whispered low: “Can you feel mine too, James?” He undulated his hips once more, the hardness of their cocks meeting beneath the leather coverings.

Bond nodded and ground his hips upward seeking out the precious delicious friction that he knew was there. Automatically his hands sought the king’s hips and his fingers dug in deeper when the king kissed him. Their cocks strained and ached for more but they kept the pace leisurely, determined to draw this moment out – especially if it was to be their last on earth.

Bond became hyper-aware of everything: the scent of the king’s hair, the fringe of it tickling his brow when his kissed his mouth, the feel of it when the king placed warm kisses along his neck and collarbone; the warm breath of the monarch on his skin as Bond returned the kisses, seeking out the pulse point behind the sovereign’s ear; the taste of the man’s flesh (salt, citrus, musk) and the shudder that went through him when Bond brushed his suprasternal notch with the tip of his tongue. They heard the world outside the tent going on without them, but those intrusions were wiped away with a soft sigh or a low moan. Bond cupped the king’s arse and caressed the fleshy mounds, kneading them through the leather. The king fell to his elbows, his body no longer able to support his weight without shaking uncontrollably, and when their chests fell together both men sighed contentedly against the other’s skin.

“Q,” breathed Bond.

“My James,” said Q. He ran both of his hands up through the short hair and marveled at its softness. His fingertips found Bond’s ears and as he continued to kiss him, lapping at the soldier’s mouth, he felt Bond shiver as his feather-light touch found the one spot along the shell of his ear that connected straight to his groin. Bond bucked his hips and grunted low. Q smiled and moved his mouth to that point along the sensitive cartilage. Barely touching with the tip of his tongue, he felt Bond go still and rigid, resisting his body’s urgent command to thrust and buck. As a result, all Bond did was quiver, his whole body becoming one shivering vibration. His breath stuttered and he tried to speak, but it was to no avail. He was lost to the thrall of his own lust.

Q couldn’t have been more pleased. “You’re fit to burst, aren’t you, James?” Q whispered, his breath still tickling the pleasure center.

“Aye, Q,” said Bond in a voice that was more a shudder than anything else.

Q ran a hand down and over Bond’s prominent erection, palming at the bulge through the leather. “Will you allow your king to take you in hand, James?”

“Anything for you, Q,” Bond breathed. He tried not to moan aloud as Q’s weight shifted and he felt his delicate fingers untying his breeches. He glanced down to watch him work and Q met Bond’s glance marveling at the look of wanton desire on his face. His manhood peeked out from the leather bindings and pushed them away just a bit.

“Gorgeous,” muttered Q and he ran a fingertip along the shaft. Bond stifled another cry and Q kissed it out of his mouth. “I should like to taste you, James. Will you allow your king to take you into his mouth and suckle like a babe on the teat?” Bond couldn’t breathe. He merely nodded.

Slowly Q made his way down Bond’s length to his cock. Bond watched gobsmacked as his sovereign, ruler of all England, nuzzled at his crotch, blew out hot breath against his golden thatch, inhaled deeply taking in his scent, and ran a pink tongue along his cock through the leather laces that held it back. Ruby lips pressed against his tip as the reigning monarch of the British Isles took his first taste of Bond’s man-flesh.

“S-sire,” whispered Bond as Q pulled the leather back allowing Bond’s prick to stand away from his abdomen, the head just beginning to leak.

Q swallowed the head and top of the shaft, sucking softly on the pull-off, only to descend upon the head again and suckling at it as though it were a nipple. His hand worked the length of him and Q watched Bond slowly come undone. He licked at the slit and sucked on the head, stroking lightly, his whole hand sliding his foreskin up and back, acting like another set of lips to kiss his own. Q pulled off of Bond when he felt the man’s hips bucking harder against him. “Shh…” said Q as he continued to tug against Bond’s prick.

The tension within him was almost unbearable, but the idea of cumming all over his king… that was filthy and unthinkable… and incredibly distracting. “P-please, Q. Please help me,” he panted.

Q climbed on top of his knight and kissed him deeply. “I shall help you, James. Only a moment longer, my love. Just. One. Moment.” He rose from the couch and stood by Bond’s head as he unlaced his own trousers. His hardened cock dropped out and Bond couldn’t help himself: he wrapped his hot mouth around that beautiful dick and swallowed as deeply as he could, wrapping a strong hand around Q’s arse cheek and squeezing in the rhythm of his suck.

Q cocked his head back and closed his eyes. “Oh this, James. Yes… my god, this.” He looked down at his lover. “You too too beautiful rogue, to treat your sovereign to such delights… and what talent! Ah! You are truly mine own forever, James. I would die for you.”

Bond pulled off with a wet pop and looked up. “You need only give me your petit mort, my liege. Show me your eyes when you shudder and cry and see God.” He went to place his mouth back on Q’s prick, but Q arrested his movement with his hand against his chin. Q kissed him and reached down to open a small chest near the couch. Inside were several wooden dowels of varying thicknesses and sizes and two that were of glass and wrapped in velvet. Q reached past these and took hold of a small tin box containing what appeared to be a salve.

“You shall see me. And only you will have the privilege, for I want no one else to touch me as long as I live,” he said handing Bond the tin. “Prepare your king, will you?” Bond opened the tin and coated his fingers in the slick salve. Q stripped himself naked and climbed back on the couch to straddle Bond once again. He leaned over and kissed him, their cocks rubbing lightly together, making both of them keen and moan. Bond reached a slicked hand along Q’s crack and pressed one finger lightly against his pucker. Q took in a breath sharply and moaned: “Slowly, James. I need you to do this slowly. I-“ Bond’s finger slipped inside as carefully as he dared.

“You are so damned beautiful, Q,” said Bond as he watched the passion play over his king’s visage. He pulled and pushed his finger carefully monitoring Q for distress but saw none. He only bore witness to ecstasy personified, an angel during the rapture, a dying saint. The king’s alabaster skin was luminescent as the early morning sun filtered through the golden canvas of the tent. His breath was heavy and his cock leaking as he rocked on Bond’s finger. And when he added a second – Q’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and his mouth gaped. “You are everything I need in this world. You are my sun and my north star and I will follow you anywhere.” He scissored his fingers and watched Q bite his bottom lip, releasing it slowly from between his teeth. “If I could, I would give you an eternity on the throne of England.” He leaned up and kissed at Q’s nipple. “I would follow you even onto the gates of Hell itself.” He moved to the other nipple. “I would win over the throne of Hell for you.”

Q grabbed his face and bent down to kiss him. “Right now, your great prick is the only throne I need,” he said. Bond took his cue, removed his fingers, and slicked up his aching member, positioning it right at Q’s hole. The king sat slowly, working Bond’s cock inside inch by agonizing inch until his balls were flush with Bond’s thatch.

They sat motionless but for their heaving breaths, awaiting the king’s pleasure.

Sweat trickled down the king’s chest and Bond traced the bead with a finger. Q watched him, his fringe shielding his eyes, making him look sinfully lascivious. He rocked his hips up slowly, practically pulling out to Bond’s head and then glided back down again with a soft pleased grunt. “Q…” said Bond as the king repeated the action. “Oh fuck… To the gates of Hell, Q.” On each draw up, Q clenched and it was all Bond could do not to scream the man’s name. Instead he stifled himself by covering his face with one of Q’s pillows.

“Don’t,” ordered the king, pulling the cushion away. He increased his pace. “I want to see you. I want to watch you reach your glory, James. Spill your seed inside me.” He leaned in close to Bond’s face and in a low, soft, sweet growl he commanded: “Fuck me like you’ve paid for it.”

Bond’s eyes went wide and he took hold of the king and sat up, flipping him on his back, his royal head just falling off the edge of the couch itself as Bond pushed his knees up to rest on his shoulders and leaned over Q to thrust in and out of him at a blistering pace. “Is this what you meant, Q?” he asked.

Q’s whole body shook with each thrust, the sensation a mixture of delicious pain and agonizing pleasure. If Bond were to inch him up just a bit - and then he did. He grabbed him under the knees and pushed them to the furs. Q’s head flung back, his throat exposed, and he clutched desperately at the mink as he let himself be fucked through and through. Bond resisted the urge to bite Q’s throat, but he did suck at his Adam’s apple, licking along his throat as he pounded into his king, his love, his life.

He came with a shudder, the king quickly following when Bond pumped his cock just a handful of times. They lay there sweaty and covered in their own issue catching their breath. “We think We can sleep much better now, good sir knight,” said Q. The ache in his arse was delicious. “Will you still keep Us company as We rest?”

“I would be honored, my sovereign,” replied Bond with a smirk and a small kiss to his king’s temple. “I would be honored and most pleased.”


	6. Chapter 6

They slept for the better part of the morning and when the second shift of soldiers heaved to at the construction of the rafts, the king and his knight arose, washed, and dressed. They called off the guard at the door and invited servants in to bring food and wine. They had a mighty hunger. They sat across the table and supped; the king and Bond very quiet in the presence of the attendants, not daring to exchange so much as a slight glance whenever a glass was filled. But when they were left alone, the servants dispatched to bring them news of the goings on in the camp, they found their hands touching and caressing each other, fond smiles on their lips, sweet words drifting to one another over the pomegranates and figs on the table.

“I can scarcely credit my memory, Q,” said Bond in a breathy whisper. “It seems as though this morning were a dream.”

“Do you often dream of your king in such a manner?” asked Q, a teasing smile playing about on his lips.

“Often,” said Bond, “And oft again.”

Boldly the king rose and circled the small table. He took Bond’s face in his hands and kissed his lips sweetly. Pomegranate, wine, and Q were the treat taste for Bond’s eager tongue and he lapped up all he could, wary of the possibility of an intruding attendant’s reappearance at any moment. His hands slid around the leather and mail surrounding his sovereign, the cool smooth metal making an interesting contrast to the soft skin that Bond knew was beneath. He never wanted to see harm come to that hide and stood slowly, determination filling him as he kissed his lover, his king.

As the kiss broke, the world around them came back to them. An attendant was returning. Bond had the reflexes of a cat. He employed them now to remove his embrace from the royal body and stand at a soldier’s attention. The king, being a king, was used to doing things in his own time. He released Bond slowly, almost with an air of regret, and turned to face the oncoming interloper.

“Sire,” said the attendant as he made his bows. The king had been sufficiently tidy in his turn so that the boy saw nothing.

Secretly pleased, the king straightened the mail at his collar and said: “Report.”

“There are a total of six rafts currently built, three more joining them, your grace,” said the boy, beaming at his king.

The king returned the smile. “Excellent. This puts Our plans into good motion. Now We must figure where to embark and disembark along the banks. We require maps. Whatever We can get of this area. We require counsel of those that know this area. We shall have as much information as We can gather. See to it that We have what We need within the hour. This dragon shall not live for longer that We deem it necessary. Away.” And with a wave of his hand, the attendant was gone again.

King Q turned to Bond who still stood at attention staring off into the middle distance with practiced discipline. “And you, Sir Bond,” said the king, “you shall go and see about weaponry. Take stock of all that We have for man-power and armament. I shall not be made to feel that We are not sufficiently prepared to deal with this menace. Come back to this tent in one hour’s time or less. We will require your knowledge and opinion.” He kissed him, slow and chaste. “And know that We love you with all Our heart for the excellent sleep you have given Us this morning. Hasten back to Us, good sir night.”

The king’s words echoed in his head the entire time he was gathering the information the king required of him. It was a bit distracting, causing him to count the pikes twice and the shields three times, just to be sure of his numbers. The head count was worse. With close to two hundred men milling about doing this and that, some laboring, others sleeping, still more preparing food for the evening meal, he found himself wandering around the camp twice to verify all of the hale and hearty. As it was, he ran late for the hour the king had set for him and silently cursed his recollection of that royally distracting countenance as the king crested on his wave of ecstasy just that morning. “Hasten back to us… We love you with all Our heart…”

“There you are,” cried the king at the sight of Bond. Once again the table was laden with maps, these specific to the river and the wall of stone beyond. The king waived Bond over. He was not alone. The Scout Commander, Sir Mallory, Sir Tanner, and Sir Trevelyan all stood around, each man’s head coming up as Bond entered the tent. “Come, Sir Bond. Tell Us what you have learned. What do We have at Our disposal?”

“There are two hundred and twenty men in the camp, including servants,” said Bond. “Of the armed men, there are one hundred and ninety. Each man has his own sword and shield. There are also fifty battle axes, thirty five pikes, twenty maces, and seventy five long bows with a full complement of arrows in the quiver. More shafts can be made if necessary, but the tips will be hard to come by. We can set some men to make more if his majesty commands.”

“Excellent,” said Q. His focus during Bond’s report was on the map before him rather than the knight. Bond would have felt slighted but he knew better; there were too many eyes. Bond smirked to himself that the king didn’t trust himself enough to look at Bond while he spoke. Perhaps the king would have betrayed himself without intending to? That was a pleasant thought: that Bond could cause the king to lose his poise in a crowd simply by speaking. Yes… Bond liked that thought immensely.

“Now that we know what we have to fight with, your grace,” said Sir Mallory. “What exactly are we up against?”

The king didn’t raise his head, but lifted his eyes up to all of his knights. This gave his words a conspiratorial air and his audience was rapt. “The Scout Commander here has told Us that the survivors had said that this beast is of a hard green complexion with a golden underbelly and gold traces at the mouth, eyes, and wings. It flies and cries harshly, but it flies a bit wrong. It has already suffered an injury. The men speculate various reasons for this, but no one is certain how the beast was harmed. All they could tell Us was that it seemed to have come here to lick its wounds. That is an advantage to Us.

“The beast is holed up here,” he said, pointing at the great mountain on the map. “About halfway up the mountain is a cave where it has hidden itself. To access this cave it is necessary to cross this river and scale the cliff side.”

“With your grace’s permission?” asked the Scout Commander. Q nodded. “One of the servants is a local boy to this area. He says the cliffs are simply referred to as The Wall. He has pointed out an ancient stair carved into it just here.” The scout pointed at a position that was a bit down river from where they were camped. “It is along the riverbank approximately one half kilometer and can be seen from the opposing shore. The river is calmer here and will afford a safer crossing. If we board the rafts at the point where we are now, the natural flow of the river should land us right at this point. It would be sending the rafts back for the next wave of men that would take the longer time. There isn’t much of a shoreline on the opposite side, the cliff itself seemingly coming from the river itself, but there is enough broken rock and shale there for men to rest, organize, and begin the ascent.”

“It seems that Providence is smiling on us so far,” said Sir Tanner.

“The climb will not be easy,” continued Sir Mallory in a somber tone. “From what I’ve seen the cliff face, the stair is ancient and it has been carved in The Wall’s infancy. Some of the steps may not be as sturdy or as sufficiently wide as we’d like. Time and wind have probably worn away more than one foothold. If he should stumble or be put off balance, a man could be killed in an instant. Hell, a fully-armored soldier will be blown off the cliff’s side with the first strong wind if he’s not careful. And if he doesn’t land on the rocks below, the river will take him to his death.”

There was a moment of silence as this fact was considered.

“How much rope is there in the camp?” asked Bond softly. All heads turned to him. He regarded them with open curiosity. “Do we know?”

“What rope we have to spare is being used to build rafts,” said Sir Trevelyan.

“No it’s not,” interjected the king. They turned to him. He pointed above his royal head. “The tents are all supported on ropes. We have not taken those to build rafts.” The king turned to Bond. “What is your thought?”

“I was thinking if we could get at least two good lengths of rope between us, enough to haul what we need up by hand, then we could travel up unarmored and our gear could come up behind us in roped sacks of tent cloth. With all the tents down, even the tent cloth could be torn into strips and woven like hemp. It would give us two advantages: healthy men at the top of the cliff - for unarmored our survival of the climb is more likely; and stronger forces at the top of the cliff – for at the top the men would be in much better wind and heartiness than if they were weighted down with armor and told to climb.”

Everyone looked impressed, but all deferred to the king for his pronouncement of Bond’s idea. For his part, King Q couldn’t help but look proud and happy. “You are excellent in Our eyes, Sir Bond, for your idea is a capital one. We shall set about ordering that this be arranged on the morrow, beginning with all the soldier’s rudimentary tents and moving up through the ranks to Our own royal abode. Ours shall be the one whose materials shall not be sacrificed to make rope however, being that they are so rich and well held together. They shall instead be the bearer of armaments to Our soldiers. The cloth is thick enough that should a sword escape its scabbard on the climb and the weapon pierce the canvas, the resulting tear shall not spread and rend the remainder of the bundle. Only make certain that all weapons with a sharpened tip are secured – either to their soldier or in their scabbard or quiver home; We do not wish to tempt Fate.”

All the knights and the scout commander nodded in agreement. “Where do we sojourn after attaining the top of the cliff, your grace?” asked Sir Trevelyan.

“There are two passes up and across the mountain on this map,” said the king. “The one that lies to the east is the one that passes just beneath the mouth of the cave. The western passage seems to disappear this way.” The king indicated where a solid black line stopped dead along the western side of the mountain.

“That’s a pity,” said Sir Mallory, “that seemed the easier route.”

“A higher climb, but a shorter one,” agreed the king, “and yet, it leads nowhere it seems. So it shall be the eastern pass that takes Our numbers. We shall prepare all on the morrow and confront the beast cornered and injured in its home and, God willing, its tomb. It grows late in the day. All but Sir Bond shall lend a hand to the raft building. Sir Bond shall set men of his selection to gather rope at dawn’s first glow. Only after a full fit rest shall the tents be torn and the rope gathered. It is Our wish that Our brave soldiers and knights shall lay their heads down under shelter this night, for tomorrow may be Our last day on earth.”

The men left the tent one by one, each man making his genuflection to his sovereign before departing. Bond was the last to leave. “Your grace is prepared?” he asked him quietly when they were finally alone.

“Prepared to face a dragon?” asked the king. “Certainly not. How does one prepare for this eventuality? It is not as if one was raised with dragons for practice. Even a king hasn’t that luxury.”

“Are you frightened, your grace?” asked Bond.

“I am only frightened of losing you, James,” said the king.

Bond stepped close to him. Their lips brushed and Q felt James breath as he murmured: “I shall not leave you, my king, my Q. Not while there is breath in my body will I allow harm to come to you, for my love for you is unfathomable, my own, my England.” Their kiss sealed Bond’s words upon the king’s lips.

 

~080~

 

The rest of that evening was all in preparation for the great climb on the morrow. Night came, and as Bond laid his head upon his pillows, his attendant disturbed him with an urgent message from the king. Bond’s heart leapt and he skipped his smallclothes, slipping on a rudimentary shirt and trousers, stepped into his boots, and crossed the camp to the royal tent.

There were no guards at the entrance, only the strolling patrol that made its way around the camp. Bond entered the tent cautiously however. A low lamp was lit near the couch where they had made love just that morning (how long ago that seemed!) and Bond looked about for his sovereign. No one was in the tent. He waited, standing at attention for his king to return. Several minutes went by and there was no stirring in the place. Not being one to let a little thing like a summons with no sovereign worry him, Bond began to feel his heart race, but gave no outward sign. He stood and stood and waited and waited and the more time that went by, the more panicked he became that somehow his servant had played a trick, or that his king was injured or kidnapped, or that he was dreaming as he had done before.

The furs on the couch stirred and a familiar mop of hair poked out from beneath them. Bond exhaled and kicked himself for his stupidity. “We waited for as long as We dared, Sir Bond. But in the end, Our fatigue won out, We went to bed and sent Our servants to theirs. You have Our most profound apologies.” The king’s voice was soft and sleepy and Bond thought it was the most adorable sound he’d ever heard.

“Not at all, your grace,” said Bond with a curt bow. “I was only concerned that your had forgotten me entirely and were in another section of the camp.”

The king chuckled low and sat up on his elbows causing the furs to slip to his belly. Hair in his eyes, a grin on his face, tight rosy nipples against alabaster skin: that was all Bond saw and all he wanted. His cock was showing a passing interest as well – which did not escape the king’s notice. King Q’s grin spread wide. “Bring me your sword, good sir knight. I see it’s trying even now to escape its scabbard.”

Bond looked down at his filling cock and proudly closed the gap between them with a slow swaggering walk that worked the cloth across his building erection in a lascivious manner. “What is your desire, your grace?”

“Remove your shoes and get on your knees before your king,” commanded Q. Bond did as he was bid, casting his shoes carefully aside and eyeing the carved wooden box near the bedside which contained things he knew would come into play in a few moments. His cock stiffened further at the thought. As he made to kneel at the king’s bedside, Q took his hand. “No. Kneel… here.” The king indicated that he wanted Bond to place his knees on either side of his torso. Once Bond was in position, the king said, “This is a pretty sight. My, how slowly the hours have passed today and all I have thought of was this moment. Will you perform a small task for me, James?”

The knight new better than to correct his king any longer about his pronouns; as far as Bond was concerned, when Q went from  “we” to  “me”, it wasn’t knight and king, subject and sovereign any longer; it was now man and man, lover and lover - soul and soul. “I will do anything for you, Q,” said Bond.

“Prop up my head and chest with pillows and cushions, love,” asked Q. Bond placed cushions big and small beneath his king’s upper half, making sure his neck and head were comfortable and supported. As he worked, he could feel Q’s hands all over his thighs and arse, his cock hiding nothing of his interest in the caresses. Finally the king lifted the silks and furs so that Bond’s lower legs and feet were underneath their warmth with his own body. When all was done, Bond’s cock was inches from Q’s mouth as he rested on his mountain of pillows. Bond began to back away to lay with his king, but Q stopped him by grabbing his hips. “No, dearest,” he said. “I will ask only one thing more before you move.”

“Yes, sweet?” asked Bond.

“A taste,” said Q. The king reached up slightly and took hold of the cord that held the simple cloth trousers closed. They fell away only to be hung upon the knight’s cock. Q smiled at the situation and gently kissed the tip through the cloth. “Away with you now,” he said to the offending material as he pulled it gently away. “You are no longer required here.”

Bond’s cock stood proudly erect and Bond reeled as he watched Q address his member, feeling the man’s gentle breath against his tender flesh. “The very thing,” said Q. “It is you that I have thought about all day. Did you know? I would rush to things, but I would have this word with you first for it is the polite thing to do. And then I shall taste of you – a long, lingering taste that I’m sure we will both enjoy. And then, when you are quite done with me, you will let me know, won’t you? You will spill into me that which I seek the most: the love seed of my most beautiful and beloved knight of the realm. And I will swallow it down as if it were manna from heaven above and watch his eyes as he gives it to me.”

His eyes turned to Bond. “You will do this for me, won’t you, my love?” Bond was past words at this moment and simply nodded. Q smiled softly. “I have practiced over the years, teaching myself discipline of a different sort than that of a soldier. And yet, it is a discipline that I’m sure you’ll appreciate.” The king shot out a pink tongue and licked the underside of Bond’s dick, brushing the frenulum. Bond’s breath stuttered and Q took his chance: he swallowed Bond down as far as his golden tuft and back out again with a wet pop. Bond’s fist went to his mouth to stifle his cry. Q couldn’t have been more pleased.

“So you see, I am quite capable,” said Q. “Shall I begin?”

“Dear God, yes,” rasped Bond.

The slick feel of the warm inside of Q’s mouth was enough to drive Bond mad. The rhythm the king had chosen for his task was slow and gradual, building up in speed over the course of a half hour’s time, during which time Q clutched at Bond’s arse from up between his thighs, ran a thumb across his balls, trailed a finger across his arsehole, and Bond’s fist stayed firmly in his mouth. After a while, Bond couldn’t help but undulate his hips into Q’s mouth. At first he was worried, but then Q seemed to lean back against all those cushions and allow Bond to fuck him orally. Bond couldn’t believe what he was permitting him to do, and more – he couldn’t believe that Q was taking him in without even batting an eye. Every now and then, Q would push him back, allowing himself time to breathe, only to pull him forward again to be gently face-fucked until Bond felt like he was going to explode. He felt his balls tighten and let up on Q just enough to allow the man another breath, stretching out the moment of sweet sensation as Q circled his tongue around Bond’s ruby tip. “More,” he heard Q whisper and that was all it took to get Bond to throw caution to the wind and take the man’s head in his hands and fuck him properly.

James saw Q’s eyes roll into the back of his head and the sounds that surrounded them were more than lascivious – they were practically blasphemous. Bond pulled slightly out as he came, allowing Q a breath before swallowing his load. The king sucked on Bond’s dick as though it were a nipple. He had never hoped or dared to witness anything half so incredibly filthy in all his born days.

Q released him with another wet pop that left a trail of cum from Bond’s slit to Q’s mouth. Bond idly noted that the king’s lips were the same shade as his cock tip. He ran the tip teasingly along his king’s mouth. A sly pink tongue darted out for a taste and Q smiled. He kissed his knight’s cock gently. “Thank you, James. That will be all.”

“Sire?” asked Bond. “Q? Do you not wish to be relieved yourself?”

Q sighed and turned his head toward the carven box. “We have ways of taking care of Ourselves, good sir knight.”

Bond looked from the box to the king. “I could be of service, your grace,” he offered.

Q smoothed a hand up Bond’s golden torso thoughtfully. His face was still wet with cum and Bond wanted nothing more than to taste himself on his sovereign’s lips. Just the same, he awaited his majesty’s pleasure. “We would appreciate your warmth and comfort this night,” mused the king as he wiped away the wet with the back of one hand.

Bond eased himself under the furs and wrapped his arms around Q. He placed a soft kiss to the king’s temple and nuzzled into his hair. He felt the king’s arms wrap around his torso and the sovereign sighed contentedly. Bond caressed the king’s soft skin, tracing fingertips down his back to his well-turned arse. Gently he smoothed his hand around the king’s hip and brushed the back of his hand against his manhood. King Q’s cock twitched at the touch and he sucked in a breath. Bond felt him nuzzle his nose against the underside of his chin and leaned down to kiss him as he took his prick in hand.

“You are certainly persistent, good sir,” said Q softly. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back.

“I just want to be good to you, my king,” said Bond. He kissed along his lover’s exposed throat as his hand pulled out a steady slow rhythm. Bond could feel his cock fill as he held it and ran a thumb across the slit. “All I want is to please you, Q – to feel you warm in my arms. I want to protect you and serve you.” He trailed kisses up and down his sovereign’s neck and collarbone as he spoke. “I want to save you from all evils in this world. Protect you from-“

“I am a man who can stand on his own, James,” said Q sounding slightly offended.

“I only meant-“

“You only meant that I am too weak to defend myself?” asked the king.

Bond paused. He had to tread carefully for, intimate moment or no, there was no good time to insult a king. “Never that, your grace,” said Bond. He released the king’s member and tilted his head back down to meet his eyes. “It’s only that… I love you. I never wish to part from you. I never want to see pain in your eyes. The thought of facing that dragon on the morrow…”

“You wish for me to remain here in the camp with the weaker men and servants?” asked Q quietly.

“I do, Q,” said James.

Q regarded him in silence for a few minutes, his passion forgotten. “I am a king, James,” he explained. “And I have every intention of being as good a king, as good a man, as this realm deserves. If I didn’t cross the river, climb the cliff, and kill the dragon at my army’s side, I wouldn’t feel worthy of the crown. It would be a personal disgrace. You are a knight, battle-forged, but I am a king and must be worth one thousand-thousand knights, for I am your leader and your sigil. As I’ve told you: I am England. Plotting an attack on an enemy isn’t enough for me. I must see the battlefield. I must take on the evil myself. If you cannot understand my meaning, then may I suggest you quit my bed and do what you must to prepare yourself for tomorrow.” He turned his back on Bond and settled himself in as to sleep.

“Does my love mean so little to you?” asked the knight.

“Many of my people love their king,” said Q. “But none would presume to hand him orders as to how to be king.”

Bond sighed. He didn’t want to leave, but he didn’t want to share a bed with a man who refused his love. After all, the king wasn’t the only man present who had his pride. “I only wish to love you,” he muttered as he removed himself from the couch.

As he dressed, he heard Q whisper: “And I only wish to be what I was born to be: king.”

Bond finished his dress and turned at the tent door. “A dead king serves no one. Good night, your grace.”

 Q watched him go and swallowed past a lump in his throat. He whispered again, but only the wind heard him: “If I die on the morrow, it will be with honor. Surely even you can understand that.”


	7. Chapter 7

He was born only 300 years ago, which made him young for a dragon. He wasn’t sentient as some tales would say, but he had awareness just like any other animal. He felt hunger, fatigue, the urge to mate. At the moment, all he felt was pain. His wound was healing, but it would take time.

He licked at his wing with his tongue. The skin between his third and fourth finger ached and itched. He had ripped it near the wingtip and it was swollen. He had been hungry and the sheep had run for the forest before he could get them all. He had crashed into the gigantic oak with a crack that sounded like lightning striking and the sharp tip of the wood had managed to slice his wing. It was a minor injury, but annoying and painful and affected his flight. He had to rest. The mountain cave was convenient.

He had left his aerie months before in search of others, but there were no mates on this side of the great sea as he had hoped. Where he had landed first - leagues north of where he was holed up now - he discovered other aeries containing only the bone dust of his kind. He had found no other sign. And as the days grew shorter, he needed to keep warmer. Were it not for his injury, he would have headed as south as south goes, but as it was, he was forced by his wound to stay still and heal.

In the middle of dreaming of endless blue skies, he awoke to the musky stink of Men. He was still drowsy from his long slumbers but then the scent got into his nostrils and he huffed out a hot breath and opened one sleepy eye.

There were hundreds of them, swarming him. The cave did not allow him to spread his wings wide, nor did it permit him to turn around easily, but he still had his fire and he showed them bursts of it – a vivid green flame. The roasting flesh was tempting to eat - simply crack the shell and devour the meat inside - but there were too many to pause and eat and the more they attacked, the greater his annoyance became.

 

~080~

 

The approach had been quiet enough not to disturb the beast from its slumbers – at first. Sir Trevelyan and Sir Tanner took the left flank, Sir Mallory and Bond the center, and the king took the right. The plan was to get behind it and rush it out of the cave. They would then attempt to trap it with a weighted net woven from the ropes they had used for rafts and hauling their armor and weapons up the cliff face. Men had been positioned above the mouth of the cave ready to fling the netting over the beast. It was a good plan, if it would work.

They didn’t know whom to blame for rousing the beast, but when it did, there was no time to criticize. Their only saving grace was that when it did open an eye, they had practically surrounded the monster, but they weren’t in the proper position and all hell was about to break loose.

“To me, men!” shouted the king as he rallied them around the left foot of the great beast. He ran straight forward and with everything he had buried his sword between the hardened horn of the nail and the surrounding flesh. The king ripped a small tear in the flesh from it. It wasn’t a kill point of course, but it was an opening to harry the monster and perhaps cause a wound that could be exploited in a later battle. Six men came to him, swords hacking and slashing at the bloodied area when it came into sight, narrowly dodging the appendage whenever the dragon drew it back from their attacks and sent it barreling toward them in an effort to crush them with one strike.

The dragon was stomping and flailing, the ground shifting and shaking with the impact. He wailed with every strike and sent green flame about himself, but as soon as the fireball died down, it was as if the Men had multiplied. He snapped at them with teeth bared and sent his tail singing along the ceiling of the cavern, sending a cascade of stalactites descending down upon itself and the Men that surrounded it.

The king could not see anyone but those in the battle before him. In truth, he was afraid to look about for it would be as quick a death as he could suffer to be crushed by a dragon’s foot, but he needed to see Bond and so took a chance. He could hear men shouting and screaming and dying about him. The giant wing of the beast sheltered him and the few men in his strike from the rocks that fell from above. The flames bursting from the mouth of the giant brought light to the darkness of the cave, only to illuminate the massacre surrounding him. The king’s heart sickened at the sight.

He could hear his heart beating in his ears as he saw three soldiers cooking in their armor. Their skin was sick and black and bubbling out of every joint. Another soldier – one of Our people – ran across his vision. He held his sword aloft, but his butchered face was missing an eye. The damaged orb dangled uselessly from the socket by its nerve and bounced against his cheek as he ran toward the monster again, crying aloud. Mid-stride he was snatched up by the jaws of the dragon and flung across the cave and out its mouth, his cry following him down the side of the mountain. Two soldiers with pikes tilted at the beast and were brushed aside by a clawed wing to smash useless as rag dolls against the walls of the cave. They landed dead on an already building pile of their lost comrades.

_What have I done?_

He didn’t see the dragon’s foot land, but he felt it. The next thing he noticed was a feeling of weightlessness; it was almost dreamlike. His body crashed violently, shaking him from his dream and causing the world to go black.

 

~080~

 

_“To me, men!”_

It was the last thing Sir Bond heard the king shout before losing sight of him in the frenzy of the attack. He tried to get to his side, but the dragon kept getting in the way. The beast was smaller than he expected, which was good, but it was big enough to not allow for easy access to the king. Sir Bond was left with only one option: defeat the dragon.

Sir Bond knew there were delicate scales on its underbelly. One slice along its anus would probably open its innards enough to disembowel the creature and there were enough soldiers there to rent the beast asunder. Sir Bond ducked behind his shield as green fire spit downward and to his right. The instant heat was stifling and the smell of brimstone that followed made him sick. He forced himself forward, dodging the clawed wing that threatened to slice him in two or cast him aside into the cave wall. He ducked underneath it at an opportune moment and passed many other soldiers who were hacking and slashing against the beast wherever they could get a sword in.

The heat was making him dizzy in his armor and he wanted nothing more than to leave the cave, rip off his helm, and gulp down as much cold fresh air as his lungs would take. But there was nothing for it. He pushed his way back, back, toward the tail of the dragon where he knew the most delicate area was: the cloaca.

It was backed into the cavern, its tail at the farthest point in the cave – another advantage to their attack because it trapped one of the dragon’s most powerful weapons, the tail - but it left the appendage lifted against the ceiling and among some very sharp rocks. The cave was already vibrating with the sounds of men and dragon both: the clash of steel, the cry of the beast, and the screams of men dying were all kicking dust and small rocks from the walls and ceiling. Heat and sulfur choked him as he moved past, his helm taking the brunt of the small rocks that fell about him. Then the beast thrashed its tail and the great rocks from the cavern roof came down upon them.

Sir Bond was so close to the dragon - underneath its wing – that he was protected by default. But the men at the head of the dragon weren’t so lucky. The sick wet smack of crushing rock on soft flesh encased in steel assaulted his ears, but Sir Bond didn’t dare break focus from his goal; he needed to get to the far end of the cave and betwixt the monster’s nethers. He needed to end this madness.

The cave was lit green and the dragon swiveled in the small space as he cast his limbs about, pushing and shoving Men in metal suits this way and that, chasing their trajectories with the green fire from his belly. His left foot was sore and throbbed, but he was altogether unharmed. When the great rocks fell and he saw the devastation it wrought, the dragon cried in triumph. He knew he would feast well that night.

When the beast cried out, the vibration shook the cave and sent even more rocks down against the men below. Sir Bond ripped off his helm, needing his full field of vision to avoid the assault from above. He moved forward from under the beast’s flapping wing only to step back immediately to avoid a boulder as large as a cow from landing on his head.

Carefully, he picked his way along, watching above him and to his right for the flailing of the beast which threatened to crush him just as easily as the sharp jutting rocks from above. He was under the right leg of the dragon when the creature lifted his left leg high up and smashed it down hard on the ground, cracking the cavern floor and crushing a few knights with it. It raised up again and as it did, Sir Bond’s eye caught the golden chest plate crest of his sovereign. King Q was lying across the collapsed rocks of the cavern near the wall. His head bore a red gash and he appeared to be dead for he did not move.

Sir Bond’s gut twisted and he kicked himself for being so foolish as to look about when his goal was so near. He kicked himself for losing track of the man to begin with. What the hell kind of bodyguard was he? He should never have left the king’s side. The monarch had insisted on taking the beast head on in the strike. He wanted to be front and center if the beast should wake. It was as if he had a death wish. Sir Bond had argued, but the only success he had was convincing the king that leading a flank would place him at the back of the beast first and that way he could be first to strike where it was needed. But the king insisted on doing it alone. Sir Bond had to be happy with that. But that was before he saw his lover’s lifeless body strewn among the rocks of the fetid cave.

He buried his grief down, deep inside himself, squeezing and crushing it until it manifested into a white diamond of blind hatred. He ran to where the end of the thorax and the base of the tail met and struck upward hard. His sword skittered across hardened scales over and over and over again; he was fighting blind. Between the dark of the cave and the tears in his eyes he couldn’t see his target. He needed another burst of flame and he needed it now.

He turned to see who was left to antagonize the beast and help him slice it open. In what torchlight remained, he saw that Sir Trevelyan had followed his path, knowing that he was the more experienced man here and Sir Bond waved him over. Sir Tanner was there also, battered but on Sir Trevelyan’s heels. Sir Bond shared his plan with the others.

“So we’re not chasing it out and capturing it at the mouth?” asked Sir Tanner. “We’ve woven the ropes for naught?”

“We’ll use the damn net to drag its sorry head home!” declared Sir Bond. “For now, we kill the cursed thing!”

“Too right!” shouted Sir Trevelyan. “Sir Bond has the upper hand in these matters, Tanner. You’d do well to listen.”

Sir Tanner nodded and at another burst of flame from the beast, Sir Bond pointed at the opening. “There! We strike there! Mark it well!”

All three men struck upward as true as they might and with all the power left to them. The dragon howled with pain and its head flew upward suddenly, striking the ceiling of the cavern and driving a large, sharp stalactite through its eye and into its brain. It dangled there a moment, long enough for the last synapses of its brain to register the searing pain along its backside that built toward its belly and the sharp electricity and dull pressure of the monolith in its eye before giving itself a glimpse of open sky and the bright white of forever.

Sir Bond, Tanner, and Trevelyan were covered in the black ichor of dragon’s blood as their swords passed into the creature’s opening and sliced through it from the inside out. Each man hacked and slashed in turn until they realized that the belly was descending lower and lower to the floor. They got out from under the weight of the animal – Sir Bond to the beast’s left, the others to its right - in time to see its head slip away from the stalactite and drop lifelessly to the cavern floor with a thunderous wet thud. Sir Bond looked down at his feet and noticed that there was a spreading pool of the dragon’s blood slowly flooding to his ankles.

_Q._

He dropped his sword and raced to where he had last seen his sovereign. He made to climb over the dead beast’s wing, but he slipped on the scales and ended up sliding back and scrabbling for purchase, the sticky-slick blood on his gloved hands and armored feet making his ascent all the more challenging. He threw off his gauntlets and clawed his way above the beast. Over the edge of the wing he looked down the fifteen feet and over a scene of death and destruction the likes of which he had never wished to see again in all his born days.

The cavern was strewn with bodies of the dead. By Sir Bond’s estimation, one hundred and eight men entered the cave; besides Tanner, Trevelyan and himself, he saw a grand total of sixteen men standing, twenty-one more moaning in pain. All the rest were dead. And so was the king.

Sir Bond dangled himself from the edge of the wing and dropped to the floor with a crash. The weight of his armor protected him and weighed him down all at the same time. He lay there motionless for a moment, not wanting to believe what his eyes had told him from afar. He shut his eyes tight and saw Q’s easy smile and soft eyes. A sobbing breath choked him and he rolled over and got to his feet.

Slowly he made his way toward the golden breast plate, now black with soot and grime. He shifted a few small stones away from the royal body and sat down beside his body. Slowly, carefully, Sir Bond removed the king’s helm. He bent close to his king’s face, willing the king to live. The monarch didn’t stir. Blood from an open wound on Bond’s forehead dripped on the king’s face, landing on his cheek. It was joined by a tear and smeared down his face. Bond brushed it aside with a thumb and whispered: “My king… my love… Q…”

He was past concern of what others may think of him. All he knew was that he didn’t want this to be the last thing he remembered doing with his lover. James kissed Q’s lips softly. “Goodbye, my Q. I’m so sorry.”

“Sir Bond?” said Sir Trevelyan.

Sir Bond looked up at him. “We take him back home.” Sir Trevelyan didn’t say a word. He saw the look on Bond’s face and merely nodded in agreement. “He needs to come home with us.”

“Of course,” offered the knight. Sir Bond saw the look of pity mingled with fear; he knew Trevelyan was feeling confused and helpless, but he was too taken with his own grief to bother to rescue him with an explanation. Sir Bond turned his face back to the king. As he gazed upon the king’s royal visage, he heard Sir Trevelyan retreat in silence.

“I will carry him,” said Bond. “I will carry him home. It’s my fault. I did this. I will carry him. He’s my responsibility.” He put his forehead to the king’s and wept. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have- You weren’t ready. This is all my fault. Please. Please forgive me, my king. Please forgive me. God forgive me.”

Bond felt a warm hand on the back of his head and opened his eyes to the sight of slits of creamy jade gazing at him. “There is nothing to forgive, my good knight.” Q’s voice was barely a whisper, but it was his.

Bond thought he was dreaming. He pulled back in shock and the king’s hand fell from the back of his head limply. “My king? Q? Do you yet live?” he asked.

“It seems We are stronger than even you thought, Sir Bond,” said the king weakly. “Thank God.”

Sir Bond felt warm tears streaming down his face as a smile split his features. His head snapped up and he barked an order: “The king LIVES! Get assistance! Hasten to make a trundle for his majesty! Move!” The remaining soldiers and knights scrambled. The knight looked back at his sovereign: “Your dragon is defeated, your grace. You have saved your people.”

Q smiled sweetly and closed his eyes. “We doubt We did much but give it an annoyance, but We thank you for your flattery, Sir Bond.” He looked at the knight. “You shall have to regale Us with the tale of Our great victory on the road homeward.”

“It would be my honor, your grace,” said Sir Bond.


	8. Chapter 8

Their trip home was an arduous and long one. Upon the dragon’s defeat they weren’t to repair to the northern palace from whence they had come. Against healer’s orders King Q gave the command for the small band that remained to go to Dragon’s Keep with the dragon’s head. There it would be displayed with the others and serve as proof of the king’s fulfilled promise to protect and defend his realm. Sir Bond attempted to talk him out of it citing the king’s blow to the head, but the king had regained much of his color and displayed no outward signs of mortal wound. As a result, he was determined to get the dragon’s head treated and mounted as soon as was possible.

It was thirty days ride to Castle Mardus in the south. It was the largest of the king’s castles and over the years it had come to be known informally as Dragon’s Keep. It held the gigantic heads of the dragons that have been destroyed over the centuries. Through a special drying process the skins could be preserved. Glass eyes, especially blown to match the exact color of the dragon’s eyes, were placed in the mummified head so that when one walked into the great hall before entering the throne room proper, one was flanked on either side by the five (now six) dragons of the realm, glass eyes glaring and fangs bared. It was truly a sight to behold.

The king held his saddle for the full day’s ride back to the retinue before continuing on. His head ached, but he gave no outward sign. The looks on his men’s faces gave him courage enough to keep up the ruse. He was their king; he was not permitted to be laid low by a single blow from a dragon. He must be strong for his people. Three days into the ride south, he was able to allow that single thought to drive him on. On day four, he fell from his horse.

He felt himself be carried and then set down gently, his head cushioned. He heard shouting… was it Sir Bond? Of course it was. He was the one who traveled the closest to him. He was the one who was constantly vigil when he slept. Of course it would be his voice he heard.

The warmth of wine was on his lips now. It was sweet and made his head throb worse. He tried to raise his hand and turn his head, but all he managed to do was cause the wine to spill down his face. He felt it wet on his neck as he spit out what remained in his mouth with a grunt.

“No wine for his majesty,” declared Sir Bond. He was so close now. “Get the healers. His majesty needs rest. Get one of the wagons unloaded, pad it with his majesty’s bedding and enclose it in his tenting. It will have to do for a transport.”

“Or a bier,” remarked another voice.

King Q heard a sword unsheathe and Sir Bond’s voice: “You speak treason, Sir. Tread carefully.”

“I only meant that the king is unwell,” continued the voice – Sir Trevelyan. “And we have a long way to travel yet. Should he…”

“Don’t!” warned Sir Bond. “Don’t even breathe the words. I will cut your traitorous tongue from your head.”

There was a silence that could be felt in the air. The king felt as though he were immersed in a pool; he kept his eyes closed and listened with intent at the sounds that came to him through a veil of deep water. There was no further conversation. Distantly the king heard a sword being sheathed and relaxed exponentially. There would be no bloodshed this day.

He was lifted again after a time, swaying and jostling in a sling, until he was placed with great care on the familiar soft padding of his bedding. He heard a few more distant voices and tasted poppy milk on his tongue. A few minutes later, sleep took him.

 

~080~

 

When the king fell from his mount Sir Bond could not dismount fast enough. He was the first to his majesty’s side and turned the monarch on his back, supporting his head with his own cloak. The king was pale. His eyes were closed, his face was drawn. He had been getting weaker by the day but Sir Bond didn’t speak a word; he merely prepared himself for what he knew was about to happen.

Only after the moment the king was made comfortable in his bedding and was fed the one drug that would make him sleep, Sir Bond felt he could leave the king’s presence. Sir Trevelyan’s remarks could not be ignored. He mounted his steed and stayed within earshot of the king’s carriage and within sight of Sir Trevelyan. He kicked himself for not seeing his coarseness, but he was blind no longer and held quiet contempt for the man he once called friend.

A week into the travel and the king still slept. He was growing weaker by the day, being unable to take food, and the healers though it unwise to rouse him. Bond had ordered the king be given oatmeal ground as fine as possible and mixed with goat’s milk. It wasn’t meat, but it was keeping him alive. When they had taken to the road again that morning and Sir Bond realized that they were one league from the castle Donmouth, he sent riders ahead to inform Lord Gordon to prepare for the king’s arrival and care.

“Aren’t you taking liberties, Sir Bond?” asked Sir Mallory whose steed trotted up beside Sir Bond’s once they had started up again. “Shouldn’t we have consensus about where the king is to be kept and cared for? There is a small hamlet not too far from here where the king can find adequate rest. And there are those who say Lord Gordon is a spy for those who would harm our king. Is it not unwise to expect shelter there? Should we not avoid Donmouth entirely?”

“His keep is quiet and safe enough. The king only needs rest. He shan’t be moving about much. And when he does, he has all of us to guard his safe keeping. But he cannot stay on the road. He needs a hearth and fresh bedding. He needs care and comfort. He will not last on this road. He needs to stop.”

“And you are a healer to make such a decision?” asked Sir Trevelyan. Bond’s head snapped forward to glare at the offending member of their party. “Or are you his mother? Or someone even more special?”

Sir Bond spurred his steed forward, removed his gauntlet, and slapped the knight across his face. “You will offend his majesty no longer, you swine. Say what you will about me, but never offend his grace. Never.”

Sir Trevelyan laughed and rubbed his cheek. “And you defend him even onto death’s door?”

“I will defend his name even after he passes into the annals of history,” said Sir Bond. “I love my king. I will tell any man that. You should too, being his knight. But you bury him while his still lives; he rests and you build him a bier. Fie, Sir, for you are no knight.” And with that, he reined in his horse and took up his position between the king’s carriage and Sir Mallory.

For his part, Sir Mallory said nothing and Sir Bond was grateful. The whole party who was privy to the exchange said nothing until they passed close to the hamlet that Mallory mentioned. The knight pointed down the road and remarked: “The passage to the hamlet is there, Sir Bond. Will you not reconsider?”

“There is no guarantee for comfort for my king,” said Sir Bond. “Or don’t you believe our sovereign deserves the best we can provide?”

“I think his majesty deserves what a king deserves,” said Sir Tanner from behind them. “And Sir Bond is right: despite our feelings about the Gordon family, his is the finest keep in this region and we would be remiss if we didn’t stop our procession there.”

“And what of the dragon’s head?” asked Sir Mallory. “If the remnants of that vile beast are left too long, the preserving agents won’t take and the king will be displeased.”

“We can send it ahead to Mardus,” said Sir Bond. “Place some of our soldiers with it to assist in the transport. The king can recover and the head will get the treatment in time.”

“It is sound thinking, Sir Mallory,” agreed Sir Tanner.

“True,” said Sir Mallory. “But I don’t have to like it.”

They rode on and Donmouth rose up like a leviathan before them. The walled city of Donmouth with its castle keep in the center was a legend of architecture. It was a city of walls: five circles within each other and a maze of alleys and streets in between. There was only one gate leading through each wall and all the gates were at different points in each one so that one was forced through the streets in order to enter or leave from the main portcullis to the keep.

The riders Bond had sent ahead greeted them at the gates. They were joined by a retinue from Lord Gordon’s own personal guard. Mallory, Bond, Tanner, and Trevelyan took up positions on all four points surrounding the king’s carriage as they rode slowly through the streets to gain the keep gates. They halted before them; the portcullis of the final gate leading to the keep's courtyard was down. Beyond the ironwork they saw Lord Petyr Gordon, resplendent in his white and gold finery and astride a pure white mount. With a wave of his hand, the portcullis rose. As it ascended, the party heard him shout: “Long life to his majesty, King Q! We welcome his grace to Castle Donmouth!”

Sir Mallory looked back at Sir Bond and muttered: “He has a bit of a flair for the dramatic, hasn’t he?” Bond barely concealed a grin.

The courtyard became the depository for all to divest themselves of their burdens. To Lord Gordon’s credit, he assigned the rooms himself, allowing the knights to each take their turn guarding the king in his chambers and providing them all with their own rooms nearby. He offered them the entire north quarter of the castle keep as their own and his own healers to help tend to their wounds as well as the king’s. Supper would be served immediately and he welcomed all to his table. He offered all of this and more – provided he got a glimpse of the dragon’s head.

This request was easily accommodated and the head was brought forth. They had loaded it onto a wagon that was hobbled together from two wagons; its length warranted it. The carriage was reinforced with tent poles that were no longer being used for the soldiers who had died and, despite the added reinforcement, the transport creaked as it rolled over the cobbles of the courtyard. The tent canvases that covered it were mottled black with the blood from the beast and the stench was practically unbearable. Lord Gordon held a cloth to his mouth and nose as the canvas was pulled back.

The head was not perceptibly changed from the ten days before when three men took four hours to hack it from the body. “The damaged eye is a pity,” remarked Lord Gordon, “but otherwise an impressive beast.” He waved a hand and turned from the one-eyed glare to his household master: “See to it the royal party is made comfortable and the head is placed in the-“

“The head goes on to Castle Mardus,” said Sir Bond.

“But that is not why I welcomed you, Sir Bond,” said Lord Gordon. “You need shelter and I want the head.”

“You owe your sovereign allegiance,” said Sir Mallory. “Surely housing his majesty in his state without expectation of repayment would be paramount to a loyal subject such as yourself, Lord Gordon.”

“And I would,” said the lord, “were the head to remain here in Castle Donmouth for all time as a gift for my charity in his majesty’s hour of need.”

“You manipulative rogue,” muttered Sir Bond and Sir Tanner held him back.

“Patience my friend,” Tanner whispered. “Keep your head. The king’s health is our priority. We need Lord Gordon more than he needs us.”

Bond took a breath and said: “Do your men know how to preserve such a beast? It is paramount that the head is treated within a month of the creature’s death.”

“There are those in the confines of the city that know this science,” replied the lord. “I shall arrange it with pleasure. Fear not: I do not wish my treasure to be spoilt in any way.” He gave the head one last greedy look and walked from the courtyard.

As the knights arrived at their well-appointed quarters, Bond removed his sword and scabbard and threw them on the bed. “That fucking bastard!” he shouted to the walls. “That whoreson! He will pay for this cheap and low act of avarice. When my king is well again, I shall hand my sovereign his head on a gold charger.”

“Or perhaps your king will not survive this ordeal,” said Sir Mallory from his doorway. Bond spun around, shocked.

“How dare you-“ he began.

Sir Mallory held up a hand. “I am merely facing facts. The king has not awoken for a week. He has not had solid food in that time either. He grows weaker with every day that passes. I do not want his death, believe me, but this cannot continue. While he is here he has hope, but if you keep on with your anger, it will become known to our host and it may spell the end for our king. You need to keep your temper, Sir Bond. Please have faith and patience.

“Sir Tanner and I both agree that you should be the first to watch over his majesty this night. We suggest you sleep now so that you may stand vigil over our king. Sir Tanner is in the room with him now. Rest. We will call for you in a few hours.” He bowed to him and left, closing the door behind him.

Sir Bond saw sense in what he was saying. He didn’t want to face the possibility of losing Q when they had just found each other. He wanted him to get well. He wanted him to rule again over the kingdom he loved so well. He wanted to see his smile once more.

As he closed his eyes, he fell asleep to the sight of dappled sunlight through the trees and his sovereign smiling like joy personified.

 

~080~

 

He looked so small. It had been a week since he laid eyes on him properly and in the hearth light he looked so very small. His skin stretched over cheekbones, his lips were cracked, his breath shallow, and his color was practically translucent. As soon as they were alone, properly alone, Sir Bond sat on the bed next to Q and stroked his hair. He sobbed audibly when some of it came loose in his hand. He pulled his hand back, terrified of damaging him any more. Sir Bond shut his eyes tightly and willed himself not to cry.

He wet a cloth and wiped it across his majesty’s lips, hoping to bring back his health in some small way. He succeeded in reddening them slightly and his kissed his love. “Please,” he whispered, “please come back to me. You’re so weak. You need to eat properly. Please, my love, my king.” He ran a thumb across his cheek.

Q remained mainly unresponsive, but if he watched carefully, Sir Bond noticed that the king’s eyes were moving behind his eyelids. Somehow this gave him hope and he spoke again: “If you’re in there and you can hear me, love, come back. Just open your eyes and come back to me. I need you. England needs you.” He kissed his lips again softly. “Just open your eyes, sweet Q, my Q. Come back.” The sovereign’s brow furrowed and he took a deep breath. “That’s it, sweetheart. Fight! Come on! Please don’t give up. I’m right here. Come back to me. I love you. Please.”

But that was all the king had to give. He gave no other sign to Sir Bond even though the knight pleaded for over an hour. Eventually, he gave up and sat slumped in a chair next to the bed watching the king’s face, imprinting it onto his heart.

If anyone were to look in on the two, they would have only seen a man sitting at another’s bedside, no word spoken between them. They would have been fooled into thinking that Sir Bond was simply waiting for King Q to awaken or perhaps that he was doing as any knight would and remaining vigilant for his sovereign as he slept. But inside Bond there was a maelstrom of fury and frustration. Without leaving the chair, without budging an inch, Sir Bond prayed to every god he had ever heard of; he wept; he gnashed his teeth; he cursed God; he shouted curses to all the devils; he begged; he spat; he swore oaths; he drove his sword into the walls; he beat his hands upon the stonemasonry; he kicked; he bit; he foamed; and he raged.

Outside himself a single tear fell down his face. He blinked it away and before long it was replaced by others. “Wake up,” he whispered. “ _Please._ ”

Dawn saw no change in the king, but every change in Sir Bond. He was drawn and haggard, his soul crushed by the horrors of his internal war.

“You may break your fast, Sir Bond,” said Sir Mallory as he strode in. “I will take this morning’s watch. After you eat, please do as you like. You will take all the nighttime watches. I will then take over for you. After me it will be Tanner and then Trevelyan. Then you sir, will be back on duty. Will this suit?”

“It is well with me,” said Bond as he rose, for in truth, he was too tired to argue. “I shall dine and then sleep again, methinks. It is a tiring business watching a king waste away to nothing.” He moved past Sir Mallory at a trudging pace. He didn’t bother to look back at the bedridden shell behind him. As far as Sir Bond was concerned, his king was not there.

 

~080~

 

_Dappled sunlight… That’s what you are to me, you know: sunlight._

_A voice. His voice: “We will always have the sunlight through the trees, won’t we, James?”_

_I thought I would never see you again. Where are you? Don’t dazzle so brightly, my love. Come, let me see your face._

_Flashes of jade green eyes smiling, dark hair shining in the sun, soft skin…_

_More of you… I need more of you… Come closer…_

_Apples. The scent of apples and cinnamon and… musk. Him… it was him… scented and waiting. But where are you, love? Come closer. Please._

_His laughter: light as the breeze… too distant…_

_Where are you? Come to me… come back to me… come… back…_

“Come back!” shouted Sir Bond as he sat straight up in his bed. His smallclothes were soaked through with sweat but his room was cold. The icy chill made him alert in an instant, his body mechanically reaching for more wood for the fire in his chamber. He warmed himself in front of the flames and shivered, trying to recall the dream, trying to see the king again healthy and happy and loving him. It was no use. It had left him. But it had hardened his resolve to see Q well once more. He would try a different tack. He caused his brow to move once; he could do it again.

He was certain that if there were any kind of a change, he would surely have been woken and told. But there was no such disturbance. He completed perfunctory ablutions in the basin the servants had provided him and dressed himself. He had no idea of the hour and wanted to see the king.

His stomach growled as he cinched his scabbard belt closed. He made his way down the corridor and past a window that showed it to be dark outside. He had slept for the whole of the day and taken only one meal, so it was small wonder why he was so famished. Still: duty first.

He knocked softly at the king’s door. “Come,” came the reply and for a split second Sir Bond thought it was the king’s voice. But when he entered the room, Sir Trevelyan rose from the chair on the other side of the bed next to his majesty. All was as it had been when he left: the king still slept.

“They gave him poppy milk,” remarked Sir Trevelyan. “Fat lot of good that’s going to do him, says I.”

“That’s enough,” said Sir Bond. He stood by the king’s side and looked down at his royal countenance in mournful silence.

Sir Trevelyan pursed his lips and changed the subject. “Come to visit? You aren’t due in here for another four hours. You’ll have six hours with him then. Or can’t you stay away from his boyish good looks?”

“I said: that’s enough,” growled Sir Bond.

“Fine,” said Sir Trevelyan. “Stay here a while with him. I’ve need for the bogs. Be back in a minute.”

“What were you going to do for your next four hours if you have to use the bogs so badly now?” asked Sir Bond.

“I would have pissed in the king’s pot, of course. S’what it’s there for. And it’s not as if the king were using it. Did you know they’re having him use nappies as though he were a babe? Perchance you’d like privacy to change ‘em, eh Sir James? I’m sure his majesty will sit up wide awake if you were to brush against his royal cock,” he said and before Bond could kill him, he swaggered off to the outhouses.

As soon as he was gone, Bond leaned over Q’s face and whispered: “He’s an indelicate bastard, that Sir Trevelyan. I wonder why you knighted him – but then, you didn’t did you? No… that was M. Queen M gave him his lands and title. I knew she was a bitch, but I didn’t think she was stupid.” Q’s forehead crinkled at the sound of Bond’s voice. His heart soared. “Can you hear me, dearest? I’m right here. Come back to me. Please.”

He sat in the chair and brought it close to the head of the bed. He held King Q’s small hand in his gently and leaned close saying: “Do you know that you elude me even in my dreams? That’s not very fair of you, my sweet boy. It’s one thing to play this game with me in my waking life – that is traumatic enough – but to go into my head and become elusive as a fantasy? That is nothing more than pure cruelty. You should be ashamed.”

The corner of Q’s mouth twitched upward. _Please let him hear me…_

“Shall I read to you tonight, my sweet?” offered Bond. “I would offer to play bandy with you, but I fear that the battle would be a bit one-sided. I shall ask our good host for a book or two to pass the time, but I shall select those books that you may find appealing. It matters not what I read to you, only that you listen and attend. And do not fidget about while I read. I cannot bear a fidget in my audience.” He paused to watch the twitch happen again. He beamed. “Right then, it’s settled. I shall read and you shall listen and listen well. And perhaps afterward I shall wash your lips and hands with a clean cloth and tuck you in the way your mother used to. And then I shall kiss you and let you sleep. Does that sound appealing? Sit up and speak. Tell me yes.” Sir Bond’s eyes searched the king’s face but noticed no other anomaly. “Very well,” he said, slightly heartbroken. “Until later tonight, my love.”

He heard Sir Trevelyan’s footsteps in the corridor and kissed the king quickly but softly. He thought he felt the king push back against him, but had no time to consider it when Sir Trevelyan came in.

“Does no one knock?” asked Sir Bond. “Sir Mallory didn’t knock this morning and now you.”

“Why bother when the only person that can give answer is one of our own,” said Sir Trevelyan. Bond walked to the door in disgust and turned when Sir Trevelyan added: “Or was I going to catch you at something… untoward, Sir Bond?”

“Go to hell,” said Sir Bond and left the room for the castle library.


	9. Chapter 9

Three more days and nights passed and there was no change in the king. The oatmeal mash was keeping death at bay, but barely. He was a shadow of his former self. The pillow swallowed his head and the bed covers enveloped his body. Every night Sir Bond pushed down the feeling that this was all for naught. He tried desperately not to lose faith. The other knights gave him pitying smiles as he selected more books to read his majesty. Sirs Tanner and Mallory said nothing to discourage him, but Sir Trevelyan couldn’t stop his tongue from speaking his truth: “He can’t hear you, you know.” They had kept the same schedule of watch and before he left for the night, he passed Sir Bond a flagon of wine he had poured. “You may as well drown your sorrows. Here.”

“He can,” said Sir Bond, taking a sip from the cup as he sat once again at the king’s bedside and opened the volume of Chaucer. “His brow furrows at the serious bits and his mouth turns up at the funny bits. He can hear. And if he can hear, he can recover.”

“Bollocks,” said Sir Trevelyan as he walked to the door. “You’re hanging your hopes on some twitches and tics? You’re a bigger fairy than I thought.”

Sir Bond rose slowly from his seat and turned to face the knight. “Will that be all, Sir Trevelyan?”

“He won’t recover,” said the knight. “You’re wasting your time. We should just let him die in peace and battle for succession as tradition mandates.”

“And you think you’ll win,” said Sir Bond.

“I think I’ve got a chance same as any knight of the realm,” said Sir Trevelyan. “Better chance then you’ve got anyway.”

Bond narrowed his eyes. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that until a fortnight ago you hadn’t been in a proper battle in years,” said Sir Trevelyan. He gripped the pommel of his sword, his leather gloves creaking against the metal. “You’ve been nanny to this king and the one before. The last time you were knee-deep in blood was the last time a dragon was killed in these lands. You haven’t the skill.”

“I defeated Tanner in exercises before the battle, before we got word of the beast’s location,” said Sir Bond.

“One knight,” said Sir Trevelyan. “You defeated one knight with a stick.” He made a dismissive motion with his free hand.

“Are you challenging me, sir?” asked Sir Bond.

“Challenge will come soon enough,” said Sir Trevelyan. He nodded toward the king. “When he pops off we’ll have plenty of time to fight it out.”

“So he didn’t name a successor then?” asked Bond as he gazed at the frail form before him.

“Not that he told anyone,” said Sir Trevelyan. “But just you wait: they’ll be coming out of the woodwork claiming that the king named them the next ruler of England. We’ll have a battle before long – a good long and bloody one.”

“I bet you can’t wait,” said Sir Bond.

“I bet you die first,” said Sir Trevelyan. Bond’s head snapped up to meet his eyes. “I’ll make it plain, shall I? I don’t want a boy-lover on the throne. And I daresay the kingdom doesn’t either.” He turned and left the room.

Sir Bond was suddenly aware that he couldn’t breathe. He sat down and forced himself to take deep breaths. Anger, frustration, grief: all spun around inside his head and he shut his eyes tightly to keep from screaming. Sir Trevelyan was right about his battle record. He was rusty. He knew well how to defeat beasts, but he had been kept out of the affairs of men due to his duties to his sovereigns. As personal bodyguard to their majesties, he was privy only to the temperaments of his masters. It didn’t mean he wasn’t any less brave. It didn’t mean that he didn’t want the kingdom in good hands. But if he didn’t step forward to fight against the others for the crown… what would that mean?

He’d have to take a side. He didn’t want the throne for himself; that would be far beyond what he would ever want. He needed to back someone who would be a good leader, for whom he could serve and be proud of the service. It would not be Sir Trevelyan. King Alec Trevelyan would be a war-monger and gold-hoarder.

When they were coming up as knights of the realm under Queen M, things were different: they would war together and whore together; they were as brothers. Then he was assigned Queen’s guard and Sir Trevelyan was sent off to quell a rebellion in Ireland. He was gone two years. And when he returned, he was changed. He was somehow courser and meaner than Sir Bond had remembered him to be. At the time, Sir Bond had chalked it up to seeing so much death and destruction, but only God knew what was in Sir Trevelyan’s heart when he offered to go battle the French for her majesty and was away for another two years.

When it was discovered that the treasures that he claimed in the name of her majesty were only a portion of what he kept for himself, the Queen commanded him to deal with an insurrection in Tartary on the very outskirts of her empire. She saw him as a good fighter but a rebellious rogue and said: “He needs to be brought to heel.” The queen thought that keeping him busy would accomplish two jobs at once: keeping her hand strong in other nations; and giving her dog a bone to chew.

For a while it worked. Then the Spaniard she had trusted had killed her and all the knights were called home to meet their new sovereign and proclaim fealty. “Bending a knee and kissing an arse,” Sir Trevelyan had joked. And at the time, Sir Bond had laughed with him. No one knew what King Q would be like. Queen M had selected him as she had no progeny, but he was a mystery.

Sir Bond was dazzled the moment he laid eyes on the boy. He commanded the room well, his voice resounding off the walls and carrying out over his gathered knights. Over the following years, he had displayed sides of his character that Sir Bond admired: he was sensible and caring, seemingly docile but with a streak of humiliating cruelty if crossed. More than that, he was a strong tactician and creative military inventor, something for which every knight was grateful. He seemed an evenly balanced ruler who cared deeply for his people, his reign, and his England. Sir Bond was never more pleased to serve him.

And now, as he sat before his majesty reading aloud he tamped down the rising fear that the man he had grown to respect and love so keenly was going to be taken from him in such a slow and hateful way. He paused in his reading and took a breath. Taking up the flagon, he downed the cup completely; it was only a distraction to settle his nerves. His warm hand found the king’s chill one and he held it a moment apologizing for the break in the tale. “I am sorry, my love. I didn’t mean to stop. Forgive me.”

The hand in his squeezed back.

Sir Bond held his breath.

Two green slits of jade greeted his eyes. The royal mouth moved. The book hit the floor in Sir Bond’s rush to bend over Q’s mouth, listening ardently for his voice. A croaking noise came from betwixt the royal lips: “There is nothing to forgive, my James.”

Sir Bond’s head sank to the royal shoulder and he wept.

He felt the feather-light touch of a hand to the back of his head. “I have heard all that you have read to me,” whispered the king. “And I have heard more.” Sir Bond pulled back away from his majesty and waited for his next words. “Gather my knights to me in the morning. I shall address them then.”

“As you command, your grace,” replied Sir Bond. He could conquer the whole world with the joy that was in his heart. He kissed his king softly and thrilled to feel him press back against him. “I love you,” he said.

“And I you, my sweet James,” said the king. His eyelids were heavy but the eyes behind them shone with life. “I want to rest now,” he continued.

“Yes, sire,” said Sir Bond and he made to back away from the bed and regain his chair.

“No,” said King Q. “No I want you here by my side. Build up the fire and lay here beside me for I am cold and desire your warmth. Please, James.”

Sir Bond felt like weeping all over again. “Of course, Q.”

As soon as he had done as his king bid, he snuggled up beside his king on top of the great furs and coverlets that surrounded him and kissed him gently on the temple. He wrapped one arm securely around his majesty’s frame and sighed into his hair. “I am so glad you’re alright, Q,” he said.

“I’m glad too,” said Q. “But this is not Dragon’s Keep, is it?”

“No, your grace,” said Sir Bond. “It’s Donmouth. Lord Gordon was kind enough to allow us to stay.”

Q chuckled weakly. “For what price?”

“One dragon’s head,” said Sir Bond.

“Blackguard,” muttered Q. “We shall see who gets the dragon’s head when I am fully recovered.”

“I should tell the others that you’re awake,” said Sir Bond.

“You will tell them in the morning,” said the king. “Until then, you are mine and I am yours and that is enough.”

Sir Bond took the king’s hand in his own and gave it a squeeze. He kissed his cheek and watched fondly when his king closed his eyes and smiled. “I am yours forever, my sweet man,” said Sir Bond softly. “And I am so glad to have you back. Sleep well, my love. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

~080~

 

It was the gentlest sensation, but it was enough to rouse Sir Bond to an approximation of wakefulness. He had rolled onto his back having fallen asleep beside his sovereign. He hadn’t meant to drift off. But there was something going on and it took him a superhuman effort to turn his head in the direction of the king. There was a man standing on the king’s side of the bed. Sir Bond couldn’t focus on him. It was too like a dream. He tried to speak to him but his voice made no sounds his ears could decipher. He felt heavy, sluggish. The man seemed to regard Bond for only a moment before he took the pillow from beneath the king’s head and placed it over King Q’s face.

_No! NO!_

Sir Bond tried to reach for the man but his limbs wouldn’t cooperate. He felt the king flail beside him, his hands grabbing at his assassin’s wrist, too weak to do anything but scratch at his skin.

_Q! By all that’s holy, Bond! Move! Get up!_

Bond managed to find his dirk and draw it forth. The man released his hold on the pillow with one hand to grab Bond’s wrist. Bond rolled bodily forward as best he could to help drive the point home. His body wouldn’t respond to command and he succeeded in pushing the dirk ineffectively against the hauberk sleeve of the attacker.

_Stop him! Fucking stop him! He’s killing your king! Knave! Whoreson! Fight him! Fight! Why can’t you fight?_

The king’s hands pushed the pillow away from his face long to catch his breath and also for long enough to see what Bond had attempted to do. But in the next moment, the stranger pressed the pillow more viciously against the king’s face and leaned over to press his bodyweight onto his royal head. But the moment had been taken: the king’s hands reached out for the dagger.

The man had one hand on Bond’s struggling wrist; Bond held the dagger aloft attempting to bury it under the man’s arm. Between the two of them a stalemate had occurred: Bond couldn’t stab due to his weakened state but the attacker couldn’t dislodge the weapon with only one hand free. The king still had the use of both his hands. He took the dagger from Sir Bond’s fist and drove it upwards toward the man’s head and neck, both of his hands firmly around the grip.

The attacker backed off immediately, but not in time enough to avoid the king’s thrust which buried the weapon’s blade under the man’s chin, ripping his throat and mouth, piercing the roof of his mouth and into his sinus. A warm spray of blood poured over all three men. Screaming from the agony, the stranger fell to the floor.

Bond attempted to shout for help, but the king beat him to it: “Guards! Help! Guards!” Those three words brought a rush of footsteps and seemed to sap all the strength from King Q. He lay sweaty against the mattress, breathing heavily and reaching for Bond’s hand before he closed his eyes to his exhaustion. Bond watched in a haze as Sirs Mallory and Tanner and a handful of soldiers gained the rooms first and captured the attacker who was attempting to crawl away along the floor leaving a trail of blood in his wake, the dagger still buried up under his chin.

Healers were at the king’s side in an instant, checking his pulse and heartbeat. When they saw that the king’s awareness had returned they rejoiced and sent one of their own to attend Sir Bond. The wizened old man checked Sir Bond’s heart and eyes and the knight tried to tell him: “I can’t move rightly. Please. I can’t move.” Some of his message seemed to get through to him because he looked concerned. A thought struck Sir Bond. “The cup,” he attempted to mouth. “The cup.” He gestured toward the empty flagon of wine at the bedside table where he had left it.

One of the healers sniffed at it and made a face. He dipped a finger in and tasted the dregs. “Poppy milk and wine,” pronounced the healer. “The knight was drugged.”

The healer that stood over him looked into Sir Bond’s eyes and smiled. “You will live, Sir Bond. Sleep it off and you’ll be right as rain in the morning.” He saw him turn to Sir Mallory and tell him: “Someone will have to stand guard over his majesty tonight. This man will not be able to do it.”

Sir Mallory gave him a tight nod of dismissal and said to Bond: “We’ll have to move you, methinks.”

Somewhere from Bond’s right he heard his king’s voice: “Let him lay there, Sir Mallory. His presence gives Us comfort. We only wish to sleep. There is no harm done. Only tell Us: who was the man that We wounded?”

“We do not know, your grace,” replied Sir Mallory. “We will find it out. Until we do, Sir Tanner and I will guard you and Sir Bond.”

“And where is Sir Trevelyan?” asked the king. His voice was so very weary and Sir Bond prayed for peace so that the king could sleep.

Sir Tanner stepped forward: “He is in the dining hall having his evening meal before retiring.”

Sir Mallory’s brow furrowed. “That’s as may be, but he’s not here still and it’s been a goodly enough time for him to join us.”

Bond made another feeble effort to speak and Sir Mallory bent low over him to decipher his words: “Trevelyan poured the wine.”

Sir Mallory looked grim. He took a deep and thoughtful breath and nodded. “We shall deal with this too,” he said. He nodded to Sir Tanner. “First watch?” Sir Tanner nodded back. “Good,” Sir Mallory replied. “I’ll go find him myself. We have questions that need answers.” He bowed to the king and left the room.

Sir Bond saw that Sir Mallory was a good man; he would sort it all out. Moments before sleep took him, he felt a hand wrap around his. He forced himself to glance over at the king who was smiling at him sleepily. “We are much pleased with you today, good sir knight. Do not blame yourself for the treachery of others. Rest. We shall deal with it all come the dawn.”

The king’s soft smile followed Sir Bond into the realm of his dreams.

 

~080~

 

A soft hand passed through his hair and delicately traced his brow. He awoke slowly, dragging his consciousness up through layers of sticky goo created by his muddled mind. He sighed. The king remarked gently: “And now awake, blessed angel, for it is the morning and you have work to do.”

Sir Bond opened his eyes slowly. The coverings had been changed to white woven linen and heavy white ermine furs. Sunlight streamed into the room and pierced his vision for a moment; his brain screamed in pain at first. Then everything settled and he focused bleary-eyed on his king and his love.

King Q was sitting up in bed, propped by cushions of the same clean white. His dress had been changed to white as well. His hair was less thick than normal, his face still gaunt, and he looked just a bit careworn. But his smile was sweet and his eyes were bright. He was alert and awake and Sir Bond couldn’t help but smile at him.

“There you are, my faithful companion,” said the king.

“We are alone?” asked Sir Bond.

“Quite,” said the king. “There is a guard at the door, but otherwise we are very much on our own.”

“Excellent,” said Sir Bond. He sat up with a groan and shook his head. He made himself comfortable at the king’s side and took him in his arms, cradling his head on his shoulder. “I love you so very much, Q,” said Sir Bond. “Thank you for coming back to me.”

King Q wrapped his arms around Sir Bond’s chest and reveled in the feel of the strong arms about him. He sighed contentedly. “When I am well again, I shall endeavor to live out the rest of my days showing you how deeply I love you.”

They held each other for a long moment not saying a word, neither man wishing to break the spell. Bond kissed into Q’s hair. “Have you eaten?” he asked.

“I have,” said the king. “I was starving, and in truth I still am, but the healers have advised that my stomach has grown small from lack of use and I must add food into it slowly or else be ill. I have found this to be true. My hunger seems to be ever-present, but my stomach will not take more than a few bites every few minutes as if it is unused to the practice. I like it not.”

“You’ll like a stomach ache worse, my love,” said Sir Bond. “Do as the healers say and you will be well again in no time at all.”

“Your hold on me has given me strength aplenty,” said the king. “Go yon and fetch the bowl of fruit. It is time I fed again, methinks.”

“Are you certain?” asked Bond as he helped ease his king back against his pillows.

“Fairly,” said the king. “And besides which: you have to eat as well. It will do us both good to try. Choose something soft to start. My mouth is unused to challenges as well as my stomach.”

Bond fetched the brass bowl and a knife from the table. As he sat next to his sovereign on the bed, he found a softened pear and cut it in half, handing half to his king. The other half he took for himself. The meat was plump for the fruit was ripe and juice filled his mouth as he bit, dribbling down his chin. He wiped it away with the back of one hand and watched King Q as he ate. Juice dripped from his lips as he chewed against the soft flesh and Sir Bond leaned in to catch the sweet sticky drops on his tongue.

King Q’s pupils blew wide and he made a small moaning noise. Their lips met briefly as they chewed and when the morsel was swallowed, they deepened their kiss. Long languorous licks between lips parted created a sensation of completion they hadn’t realized they had longed for. The sweetness of the pear complimented the taste of the king against Sir Bond’s tongue. He had missed Q so much. Carefully, he cradled the king’s head with his hand and rubbed the base of his neck soothingly with thumb and fingertips. As the kiss broke, Sir Bond kept up his massage and the king’s eyes closed as he succumbed to the pleasure of that simple caring touch. Sir Bond chuckled. “We should eat our food, your grace. We need to keep up our strength.”

“Mmm…” said the king as his eyes fluttered open. He offered up his half of the pear to his knight. “Here, my love. Take and eat of it and I shall kiss all the lost juices against your skin.” Sir Bond bit down and the king moved his mouth across his lips, softly kissing and licking as the knight chewed.

Once the mouthful was swallowed, Sir Bond said: “Your turn, Q.” He held his half up and the king wrapped his lips around it, sucking at the soft ripe fruit and staring the knight down. He grazed his teeth into the meat, leaving scars across the ripened surface before taking it into his mouth once more and biting down and deep into the fruit. Juice spread across the king’s chin and Sir Bond slowly lapped at it like a dog, his wide tongue moving in long licks. Juice also trailed down Bond’s hands and arm. The king finished his mouthful, dipped his head down, and licked at the drop, tracing its trail back up Bond’s forearm, across his wrist, along the back of his hand, and up against his first finger. He finished with a showy flick of his tongue along Bond’s fingertip. “Naughty boy,” murmured Sir Bond and the king smiled wickedly.

King Q sighed. “Oh for the strength to see this excellent start to a satisfying conclusion,” he lamented.

“’Tis no matter, my king,” said Sir Bond. He moved his mouth closer to the king’s ear and growled. “I am well enough to satisfy whatever urges my king faces. I live to serve.” He kissed the king’s earlobe softly.

“You are the kindest, most generous, most courageous knight in my realm,” said the king. “Did you know that, Sir Bond?”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, my sovereign,” said Sir Bond. He nibbled at his pear half and winked at the king.

King Q smiled at him. “I know that you will understand that it is for that reason that I will never name you my successor.”

Bond’s brow knitted in confusion. “What is this? I have no interest in ruling over England. However, I do have every interest in guarding her current king’s life. I am content with my service to you, my king. I ask for no more.”

King Q smiled again. “Good. I am glad you have no further ambitions. It is well with us, my love. I would never want this to change.”

“So it shan’t,” said Sir Bond. “Now then, as to your successor: have you made such a decision?”

“I have,” said the king simply as he quietly ate his pear.

“And will you announce him or her?” asked Sir Bond.

“I shall do so in my own good time,” said the king. Bond opened his mouth to protest but the king stopped him with an outstretched hand. “I know that I should do it as soon as possible, and I shall. But first there are a few things to take care of.”

“Such as?” asked Bond.

“Such as finding out who attempted to take my life,” said the king. His look was dark and Sir Bond knew that the man who attacked him was already a dead man.

“The assassin has given you no name?” asked Sir Bond.

“I tacked his tongue to the roof of his mouth,” said the king. “As soon as the healers plucked it out, he bled to death. I daresay he’s not going to be speaking to anyone ever again.”

“I see,” said Sir Bond.

“He wasn’t the true culprit however,” said the king. He threw the remnants of his pear onto the embers in the hearth and Bond did the same. The king took an apple from the bowl and cut it in half with the knife. He handed half the apple to Sir Bond who bit down on it in thought.

“I know who drugged me,” said Sir Bond. “Perhaps he paid one of Lord Gordon’s men to perform the deed.”

“I have surmised as much,” said the king. He cut on his apple in small slivers, taking the pieces as he cut them off the back of the knife.

“Pray don’t injure yourself, your grace,” said Bond.

“I only cut it like this because my teeth ache,” said the king. “Having gone so long without solid meat, the healers say my teeth are loose. They have created a mince of meat for me to eat, but it isn’t the same as biting into a proper piece of leg of mutton. Still, one must crawl before one can walk.” He slipped another thin slice of apple into his mouth and chewed carefully.

“Prudent as ever, your majesty,” said Bond. “You’ll be well enough in no time at all.”

“And that won’t be soon enough,” said the king, slicing another sliver, the knife shining in the light of the sun. “After all, I’ve got to settle a score with a knight and a lord. I need to take control over my realm once again. I have lain abed too long. I am the King of England and I need to remind my people what it means to attempt steal my life, my kingdom, and my dragon's head.”


	10. Chapter 10

It took another ten days for the healers to declare the king well enough to travel. “We have imposed upon you for too long, Lord Gordon. We regret that We must leave Our good host for the Dragon’s Keep in the morning.” King Q smiled warmly at the Lord as they supped at the great feast held in the king’s honor. “And We are also grateful for your treating of Our dragon’s head trophy. We are certain that your tanners have worked diligently to preserve Our prize.”

“Your majesty is quite welcome,” said Lord Gordon smoothly. “But if my sovereign is truly grateful for the aid I have given him, surely his highness will not object to me claiming my due. If you had stopped in a tavern to sleep, would not the innkeeper expect payment? I rather think so. Therefore I shall keep your dragon’s head as recompense for your stay. After all, my keep has provided shelter to your whole retinue for the entirety of your grace’s illness. This was not a light expense over so great a time. Surely your grace would not be so rude as to not reward a good deed done. And a dragon’s head is a great reward indeed.” Lord Gordon chuckled and smiled.

“Indeed,” remarked the king. He eyed the lord carefully as the pompous man gazed confidently at the revelers before him. “How is your navy these days, Lord Gordon?”

“Strong as ever, your grace,” said the lord absently. The Gordon lineage was rife with sailors. As it was, Donmouth castle sat near the port of Kingullis and harbored one of the greatest concentrations of boats in the realm. The Gordon fleet even rivaled the king’s own. As a result of the commerce and power that a fleet of ships can bring, the Gordon family had become greedy, spoiled, and arrogant and the man sitting to the king’s right was a result of 400 years of that arrogance.

Were he any other man, the king could have simply ordered his death and there would be no arguing. But as it was, the Gordons were a leading family with many fingers in many pies and were the king to needlessly order a beheading (simply because the pompous bastard was ignoring him and waiving at a pretty handmaiden across the dining hall) it would bring condemnation on Q’s reign from all sides. Everyone owed a Gordon something and was honor-bound to repay the debt.

Q rankled at the idea that the Gordons had managed to turn honor into a commodity for trade. He found himself capable of ignoring his portentous host’s behavior and continued: “You have a goodly number of ships to hand, don’t you?” he asked. “And quite the force should the crown have need of them.”

“Did his majesty hope to sail homeward?” asked the lord. He drank deeply from his cup and held it out to be refilled by his wine-bearer. “Because it would be a little matter of giving the order. Of course, if his majesty would then shelter and feed my navy while they were in the port of the king’s choosing, that would be adequate repayment.”

The king nibbled on a peach thoughtfully. “No, indeed, for Dragon’s Keep is land-locked as you well know and We intend to make for her at dawn’s first light. No, We were thinking about Our dragon.”

“What about my dra- I beg pardon: what about your grace’s dragon?” asked Lord Gordon.

“We were wanting to hunt for more of them,” said the king.

“Were you?” asked the lord. “So soon after the first? And you were looking to use my ships?”

“We were looking to give you the honor in securing Us safe passage across the waters in search of them, yes,” said the king. “But of course, that was before.”

“Before?” asked the lord. He wanted the glory of launching the king toward the next dragon’s head. In fact, he was considering just exactly where he would place his second and third dragon’s heads in his castle, for dragon’s heads would be the fee he would exact for every trip the king made with his ships. Or better still – dragon’s eggs.

The temptation manifested by his greed was almost too much to bear. His family had sailed the waters as far north as the borders of the Unknown Lands and as far south as south goes on the tiny island for 400 years and he wasn’t about to let any king of the realm the use of them without capturing credit for his family and obtaining payment for his coffers. The Gordons had stood on those shores for centuries, king after king after king, and no one was going to make them do something without expecting some form of business transaction. It simply wasn’t done. Everyone knew that you always owed a Gordon. “If it please your majesty, tell us what you mean?” he asked.

“Yes,” continued the king as he idly watched his knights at table, his eye wandering over to Sir Bond by way of reflex, ”that was before We considered the trouble it would bring you, Lord Gordon.”

“I see,” said the lord, somewhat crestfallen. “Well… should your majesty change his mind and choose to sail – the Gordon fleet will always be at your service.”

“But then,” said the king, “the Gordon fleet hasn’t set sail in unfamiliar waters in centuries. Perhaps it’s best. We wouldn’t want to see harm come to you or your navy.”

“Do you question the bravery of our sailors, your grace?” asked the lord. “Do you question the strength of our ships? We fear no depth, no rise and swell. We are as brave as any man who set forth from Kingullis port four centuries ago!”

“But We would need to sail far north of the Unknown Lands,” said the king sadly. He shook his head. “Your fleet is far too precious.”

“My fleet is the only one that could do it!” said the lord. His temper was up. The king looked at him in mild surprise at his obvious insult. The lord realized his mistake and stuttered: “E-excepting your majesty’s fleet, of course.”

“Then you shouldn’t concern yourself overly with it, Lord Gordon,” said the king. He took a sip from his cup to hide his grin. Pride would always fell a man in the end and King Q knew his subject well. “God rest you merry, good sir. This is a celebration, after all. We shall press the subject no further. If there are dragons to be found and destroyed We shall take care of them. After all, it is Our kingdom. You are merely one of her loyal subjects.”

“Your majesty,” pleaded the lord, “it would be folly to allow anyone else to attempt such a venture. No one knows the waters on this coast better than my own men.” His avarice had gotten the best of him. The wine he was gulping down wasn’t helping his judgement.

“This is true. And the Gordons are the experts,” mused the king.

“Precisely,” said the lord, “which is why the honor should be my fleet’s.” He licked his lips in anticipation.

“The honor, the credit… and the spoils,” said the king.

“Yes, your majesty,” said the lord. “We are in agreement?”

“We are,” smiled the king. The lord grinned from ear to ear and swallowed another goblet full. The king got to his feet and addressed the hall. His voice rose above the din as he raised his glass: “Good subjects: a toast.” Everyone raised their glasses in turn and looked toward the king. “We have secured the safety and security of the realm from the threat of this dragon and We have all here present to thank.” A cheer went up and the king smiled and nodded. “You have the gratitude of your king for this. And you have Our gratitude for much more - for those of you who live in Donmouth have your lord to thank for a great privilege.” Here the king paused to nod and smile at the company before him. He gave a glance to Lord Gordon before he went on: “We revere the great men of Donmouth and Kingullisport for their skill and bravery as sailors. We have been assured that the wisdom, strength, and sailing prowess of Lord Gordon himself will lead the way.” The choking cough that came from the bloated lord made King Q’s smile all the wider. He held his goblet aloft toward the lord whose color was beginning to reflect the purple of the wine. “For We have commanded that his vast fleet of brave and honorable sailors set sail north beyond the Unknown Lands in search of more beasts to slay. Lord Gordon himself has agreed to lead the first offensive assault on these terrible monsters and We command for his dragon-hunting expedition to begin as soon as possible. We have already sent royal command to his navy in anticipation of Lord Gordon’s generous, gallant, and brave nature. Prepare yourselves, brave gents, for you set sail on the morrow!” A loud cheer once again rose up in the hall. “Therefore We command each man to fill his cup and raise it to the great dragon-hunting endeavor led forth by the most brave and loyal of Our lords of the realm: Lord Petyr Gordon!”

“Lord Gordon!” the company replied as the man in question visibly shrank into his chair, suddenly pale and shaking.

The king sipped his cup and sat as each man’s conversation picked up again with even more fervor than before. Beside him Lord Gordon was still trying to wrap his brains around how the king interpreted his offer of his fleet as the lord offering to lead said fleet off into the great unknown. He was green at the thought of travelling over unpredictable waters to look for killer flying monsters in the dark who wanted to cook and eat fat little lords in their shiny armor - provided those same fat little lords didn’t fall off the ship in rough seas and sink to their deaths weighted down by that same shiny armor. Lord Gordon loved his ships, but he loved dry land and his life there much more.

“We are so very proud of you to make this sacrifice, Lord Gordon,” said the king.

“Sacrifice?” sputtered the lord. “Your grace, I don’t mind if you take the ships and some of my men, but to think that I would lead this- this- insanity! You can’t think that I would leave my people without a lord-“

King Q halted his indignation with a calm raised hand. “Be at your ease, my lord. We shall see to your people and your keep – personally – while you are away.”

“But how long is this expedition to be?” asked Lord Gordon.

“As long as it takes for you and your navy to find me a nest of the beasts,” replied the king calmly. “It could be a month; it could be years. We have given word all along the coast so that you may be welcomed in any port in the realm as you head north to the Unknown Lands. I suggest you gather stocks of food and clothing on your way. It would be wise to prepare for any eventuality and for any length of time.”

“B-but-“ stuttered the lord.

“Surely you are not trying to stay behind here, Lord Gordon?” asked the king. “It wouldn’t do for your honor to be besmirched in such a manner. Especially when I’ve announced to this good company that you intend to lead-“

“I never said I would!” said the lord.

“But it’s your fleet,” said the king, innocently. “Where else would you be?”

“I- well… I-“ sputtered the lord. His face vacillated between purple and pale. Finally he resigned himself to his fate and swallowed another bumper to his own cursed hubris.

The king rose and made to leave the hall. “Please excuse us, dear Lord Gordon. We have to rest and We suggest you do the same. We both have early mornings ahead of Us tomorrow, don’t we?” And with the sweetest of smiles, the king departed from the room and went to bed.

 

~080~

 

“An early evening for you tonight, sire?” asked Sir Trevelyan. The king was in the corridors that led to his bed chamber when the knight addressed him. Sir Trevelyan wove on his feet; the wine had gotten the better of him.

“Planning another evening of skulking about, Sir Trevelyan?” asked the king.

“I wouldn’t call it skulking, your grace,” said the knight. “I merely keep to the shadows because evil lurks in the shadows. And I have a sacred duty to protect my king.”

“I would say then that it’s appropriate for you to remain there,” said the king and he turned and gained the door of his private rooms. Upon entering the sitting room, Sir Trevelyan followed him closely but not closely enough to seem threatening. The servants made ready his majesty’s nightly comforts as the two men came into the bedchamber.

“I was wondering where your lover had gotten to,” said Sir Trevelyan. “Surely he follows at your heels like a good dog.” He looked about him at the startled attendants. “And not so much as a guard to escort you? Tut tut, your majesty. That will never do. I shall be honored to escort you to your bed.” He made a grab for the king’s arm, but Q deftly pulled away from his reach. The king judged from Sir Trevelyan’s reaction time that he was too drunk to be much of a physical threat; he should have no trouble dispatching him should the opportunity present itself. And no true knight of the realm could ever willingly harm a sovereign head. He waved off the few servants who were present and they scurried away like rats from a ship. The king and his knight were quite alone.

“Let’s don’t be vulgar, Sir Trevelyan,” the king admonished. “You are drunk. Go sleep it off. We are capable of readying Ourselves for bed unaided.”

“Yes, yes. Mustn’t be vulgar in front of the king. Mustn’t offend his grace’s sensibilities. How like a woman,” said Sir Trevelyan.

“Blackguard,” said the king as he spun on him in anger, “We require an apology. Now.”

“I shall not apologize to a king who takes it up the arse,” said Sir Trevelyan. “Besides, if your grace had died like a good little cock-sitter, I’d be king now.” He stalked up to the king, backing him against the wall.

King Q raised an eyebrow. “You take more than a liberty, sir. Are you so certain that you should rule in Our stead?” he asked.

“Quite,” said Sir Trevelyan, his lips set in a thin line. “No kingdom should have such a weak excuse for a man on her throne. You are an insult to this country, Bond an insult to the knighthood. Were you to die and I take the throne by rights of battle – as I will if it come to it – then I will have your precious knight’s head struck off. He can join you in Hell, you pervert.” A meaty hand wrapped around the king’s throat and he instantly regretted sending the servants away. If they had remained, Sir Trevelyan wouldn’t be so bold.

King Q pushed up against the knight’s wrist with all his might, but Sir Trevelyan just laughed and increased his pressure. Reflexively, the king drew up his knee, aiming for the knight’s groin, but a metal codpiece prevented any real damage from being done. Again Sir Trevelyan laughed sadistically.

The knight gathered both of the king’s wrists together with his free hand and pinned them to the sovereign’s breastbone. His other hand released the pressure from the king’s throat, took a handful of the king’s hair and dragged him across the room, throwing him on the bed. Swiftly, the knight flipped the king over and pinned him down with his body weight. Sir Trevelyan’s breath was hot on his ear as his voice growled: “Let’s see what all the fuss is about then, shall we?”

The king’s robes were lifted up and out of the way, his smallclothes ripped down until his arse was exposed. “Much like a maid’s,” observed the knight. “This is going to be fun.”

The king was too shocked to say anything at first, but when he heard the knight’s final comments, he found his voice. “You will not survive this night, Sir Alec,” the king said angrily. “Your life is forfeit from now on, you defiler, you whoreson. You are no knight; you aren’t even a man.”

“And you would be the judge of me?” asked Sir Trevelyan. “Shut up and take my cock like a good girl, you fuck. You’re no king. You’re a whore like every other woman.”

King Q closed his eyes as Sir Trevelyan released his cock from his trousers and jammed it between the clenching cheeks of his buttock. The knight pressed more of his bodyweight against the king’s upper chest until the king’s face was practically buried in the bed coverings. Sir Trevelyan pushed and rutted against the king, muttering his disgust: “Playing at capturing dragons… think that makes you a man? Even a boy can chase dragons. You’re nothing more than a cum catcher. A pretender to the throne assigned to it by a woman who could barely keep track of her own knights. You’re no warrior, certainly. You can barely wield a sword. I doubt very much if you could take a human life yourself. Takes a man to do that - especially with a sword on the battlefield – and I think I’ve made myself plain that I think you no man.” He grunted with his efforts and as he worked at prying the king’s buttocks wide with his cock, the king felt his stamina weaken. Before long, he wouldn’t be able to prevent Sir Trevelyan from raping him and he felt his heart race at the thought. He tried pushing back against the knight, but it only sapped his strength more.

“And even if you manage to put me in chains, what will you say? That I attacked you? That I violated you? How will that make you look, eh? How will that make you seem? It will look as if you were incapable of defending yourself. It’ll make you look as weak as you actually are.

"And what’ll I say should they ask me? I’ll tell them you never put up a fight. I’ll tell them all that you enjoyed it. I may die for it, but no one will ever take you for a strong king again. They’ll all see you as I do: a bum-fucked little girl who likes cock. You’ll never be a true king in their eyes.”

The king despaired. The knight was right. He didn’t want him to be, but he was: everyone under his command – all of his subjects – would see him as less of a king should he be violated in this manner. He had to do as Sir Trevelyan wanted if he wanted to remain a strong king. It was the only thing he could do. But somewhere within him was the resolve to resist.

The knight grunted and rutted against the king and he felt the king give in just a little. “That’s right. Let me have it. No one will believe you anyway. And you’ll give me what I most desire: power. You’ll make me a lord first. I’ll take this castle and everything in it. And you’ll give it to me to keep your throne. And then, you’ll declare me your successor like a good little girl. Because you know the kingdom needs a real man at her helm, not a pouf like you.”

“TREVELYAN!” boomed Sir Bond. He stood in the doorway, his sword drawn and poised to kill. King Q wept at the sight of him. He hadn’t been penetrated but between the physical struggle and his waning strength, he was terrified.

Sir Trevelyan looked over at Sir Bond lazily and laughed. “There you are, lapdog. Was wondering when you’d get here. Come on over and join in. You can cum on his face if you like. I’m sure his grace will lick your hardness with great relish.” He placed his mouth close to the king’s ear but never took his eyes off Sir Bond as he spoke: “You’d like us both, wouldn’t you, my pet? Hmm? We’d take you like a pig on a spit: me up your arse and your dog’s cock in your gob. That’d make you happy, hmm?”

Sir Bond was horror-stricken. King Q was struggling but in tears and clutching at the coverings. Sir Trevelyan was all smiles and red-faced anger. “Come on in and join us, James. It’d be like old times in the bawdy houses of days gone by. We’ll be like brothers again.” Murderous rage overtook Sir Bond and he closed and locked the door behind him, never taking his eyes off the two.

“We never raped anyone,” said Sir Bond quietly, "and you're no brother of mine." It took only another moment’s glance into the king’s eyes to break Sir Bond’s heart and cement his resolve. Acting on instinct and relying on the drunken knight’s slow wits, Sir Bond maneuvered himself swiftly behind Sir Trevelyan and grabbed his hauberk collar, pulling him back and off of the king in a violent manner.

Sir Trevelyan backed off the bed with a jerk and pushed back against Sir Bond using his bodyweight as an advantage. The knights fell to the floor, Sir Trevelyan between Sir Bond’s knees. Sir Trevelyan laughed as he got to his feet, pulling up his trousers with one hand and reaching for his sword with the other. Sir Bond was still on the ground, but had his sword to the knight’s throat before the knight could right himself to stand or obtain his weapon. “That will be quite enough of that, swine,” declared Sir Bond. “You shame your knighthood. And now I'm going to kill you.”

“Hold, Sir Bond! Sir Trevelyan.” The king had recovered rapidly and was seated directly behind the knight on the bed. Sir Trevelyan turned his head to look upon the sovereign who returned his gaze coolly, his rage tamped down behind a placid face. “Remove your hauberk.” Sir Trevelyan gave a giggle but ultimately shrugged and did as he was bid. The chain mail shirt fell to the floor with a distinctive _schink_. “Face Sir Bond,” commanded the king. Again, the knight did as he was bid. Sir Bond stood slowly, still holding him at sword point.

The king rose off the bed, picked up Sir Trevelyan’s sword, and circled the knight to join Sir Bond. “You say that this kingdom will never be strong with Us as its king because We are drawn to a lover of the same sex as Ourselves. This loss of perceived power renders Us weaker than the average man, you think?”

“I do, pervert,” said Sir Trevelyan.

Calmly the king replied: “Sir Bond, kill him.”

Sir Bond raised his sword in a backhanded stroke aimed to slice open Sir Trevelyan’s throat. Sir Trevelyan flinched in surprise and was still cringing when the king cried: “STOP!” Sir Bond froze in place, his sword still poised to strike.

“That is power, Sir Trevelyan,” said the king. “And We are the king. While We are seated upon her throne, England and all her subjects are Ours to command. As a result, We are England – the male and the female in one. And no one – not even you – are permitted to violate her without her fighting back. She is not a whore for you to ravage.” With this, King Q drove the point of Sir Trevelyan’s sword through his ribs and into his heart. He leaned in closely and spat through gritted teeth: “And I am a man who will not be marginalized nor trifled with, you traitor. Now die at the hand of _your king!_ ” The king twisted the sword deeper into the knight’s chest and waited for death to take him.

Sir Trevelyan’s eyes were wide when his life left him. He had been staring at Sir Bond when the king pierced his heart. He didn’t believe the sovereign had it in him right up until the end. He was dead before he hit the flagstones.

The king turned to Sir Bond. Sir Bond’s chest swelled with pride at the strength contained within the man before him. “Let the other guards in,” King Q commanded. “Have the knight’s body sent back to his family – what family he may have – and let’s to bed. I feel the need for open air once more and tomorrow can’t come soon enough.”

“Q…” said Sir Bond. He cupped his king’s face in his hands and kissed him softly. “I do love you.”

“And I you, James,” said the king. They kissed each other for a long moment, savoring the taste and feel of one another as their hearts slowed to a steady rhythm. When the kiss broke, the king sighed. “I need to do something about the buggery laws of this land. That’ll be the first order of business after my dragon’s head is safely in the Keep.”

“I can’t think of a better task to take on,” said Sir Bond. “Or a more difficult one.”

The king pulled his head back to look at his knight with a cocky grin. “Sir Bond, We have commanded the attack on a dragon and slain a traitorous knight in defense of the realm; if We can accomplish that, We can do anything.”

“I have no doubt, your grace,” said Sir Bond.


	11. Chapter 11

It had been a long day at court. King Q removed his crown and set it on the cushions reserved for it and scratched his head with a satisfied sigh. All the servants had been sent away so that the king might rest during the hottest part of the afternoon. A cool bath had been prepared in a gigantic basin big enough for ten in a room of white marble with a ceiling of lapis lazuli. Bright afternoon sunlight streamed past the linen curtains strung behind the colonnaded balcony and the king slowly disrobed and stepped into the tepid water. Floating on his back, he luxuriated in the lap and trickle of the liquid, closing his eyes to the outside world and letting his ears dip below the surface. He tipped his head back a bit to wet his fringe and felt his hair drift this way and that with the sway of the small currents created by his movements. He heard his breath magnified. He heard his heartbeat.

The coolness of the water was contrasted deliciously with the air. He felt it against his knees and forearms, chest and face, and he felt it tickle his cock as it bobbed between his legs. He wiggled his toes and allowed himself a moment of complete freedom. For the first time in a long time, he was in no hurry to do anything.

The winter had been hard and long, but Lord Gordon's seat was made more comfortable through the king's changes. Donmouth and Kingullis were under Sir Tanner’s watchful care as were the lands and people therein. For some strange reason there was a surplus store of food and supplies in the Donmouth keep and rather than have it all hoarded and rotting away, Sir Tanner had thoughtfully distributed it to the people of the city as well as the port. The consensus was that Lord Gordon was eventually going to do the same – he just hadn’t gotten around to it.

Nor, it seemed, had he gotten around to re-distributing the wealth stored up in his family coffers. Upon investigation it seemed that the two cities were placing the correct amount of coin in the king’s hands as was required by law, but that Lord Gordon was also levying his own taxes on salt, meat, and bread that were almost double what the king required. When this discrepancy was discovered (by pulling up flagstones in two different wings of the castle keep), Sir Tanner rectified the situation immediately, each household receiving back what they would pay per person per day for the last ten years. Half of what was left over went to an orphanage on the outskirts of Kingullis. Word got back to Sir Tanner that three of the good sisters of the orphanage fainted when they were told how much the six full burlap bags of coin were worth - only one was hard-pressed to understand why. It was only enough money to keep them going at triple their original budget for the next six years.

The dragon’s head was placed in the Dragon’s Keep and everyone in the realm came to see it. It wasn’t the biggest one on display, but all present had said the green and gold scales of the beast were magnificent to behold. The dragon’s adventure was also swiftly linked with the sinister knight Sir Trevelyan and his death at the hands of the king himself. Every man, woman, and child heard how the king ran him thorough, though the details varied from storyteller to storyteller and some versions were entirely dependent upon how many tankards of ale were involved in the telling. Nevertheless, King Q’s esteem rose high with the people for months afterward.

Spring came and went and with it came King Q’s formal announcement of his successor. The proclamation and formal ceremony were performed in the grandest of the king’s castles: Thronemont. The city itself was hewn out of a great mountain and its cliff that faced the sea. A seemingly endless nest of balconies and loggias provided all with a spectacular view. The castle proper was on the highest ground and its walls were the thickest and strongest in all the land. This is the city the king resided in during the warmest months, taking in the southerly breezes and enjoying a bit of peace in a prosperous and happy citadel. But it was also the king's seat in the nation; the perfect place for a succession ceremony.

Sir Mallory was honored and humbled to be chosen for the job. The king declared his attributes to the nation and preparations were made to begin his training for kingship. Sir Mallory became quite busy after that; the knight was made Chief Justiciar of the Realm (as was the custom) and was given duties and tasks to share in to ease the king’s burden. This consisted of Justiciar Mallory presiding over most of the weekly council meetings and court audiences that the king had been required to deal with, dropping the king’s attendance at such things to once a month. Neither man minded; it was a pleasure to learn for Mallory and it was gratifying for the king to be able to give up some of the weight of the crown for a while each month.

This particular summer day marked the last of the king’s responsibilities in court for yet another month and it was getting easier and easier to let go. The moment he excused his servants and removed his crown, it meant he was released from any daily tasks and was then free to do as he pleased. And now King Q floated naked in his bath and contemplated little; he willfully emptied his mind and attempted to find peace in his current solitude.

He opened his eyes when he felt the water move and heard soft sounds. He looked up into the eyes of a very contented James Bond. The king smiled as Bond’s muffled voice could be heard beneath the water’s surface: “Are you at your ease, your grace?” The king nodded in reply and Sir Bond kissed his forehead.

“Get in,” said the king.

As it happened, Sir Bond had anticipated the king’s request and had stripped down to his small clothes already. It was the work of a few seconds for him to divest himself of them and slide into the water beneath his king his hands holding the sovereign’s waist gently as he sat on the small ledge that ran the circumference of the inside of the basin. He nuzzled into the king’s neck and kissed his skin gently when the mood struck him. The king heard him murmur: “’Tis the first warm day we’ve seen here at Thronemont this season.”

“Sure to get hotter and more intolerable as the days pass,” replied the king.

“It will be our first summer together,” said Sir Bond. The king hummed his agreement. He cupped cool water over his sovereign’s exposed skin, watching it run off in rivulets, waking gooseflesh. “And your birthday is coming up as well.”

“It is,” said the king. “I’m glad you remembered.”

“Sire,” said Sir Bond, pulling away to look at him critically. “A king’s birthday isn’t something that a loyal subject forgets. The whole kingdom celebrates in one way or another: every city, every hamlet has a celebration in your honor. It’s a day not likely to be overlooked.”

“True,” said the king. “Still, it’s nice to hear that you remember.”

Sir Bond shook his head and kissed King Q on the cheek. “Silly boy,” he muttered affectionately.

The king placed his hands on both of Sir Bond’s and moved them to wrap around his middle. He then moved about in the water to pull himself up to a seated position on Sir Bond’s knee. The king nuzzled into Bond’s neck and behind his left ear. He gave the lobe a nibble and whispered: “So what are you getting me for a present, my gorgeous knight?”

“Mmmmore sword lessons,” said Sir Bond.

“Oh?” frowned the king. “That doesn’t sound very exciting, Sir Bond.”

“You’re not using your imagination,” said the knight. He grabbed his cock with one hand and brushed the tip of it against the king’s thigh. “A bit of thrust and parry, methinks.”

The king laughed at this, letting his head fall forward then back in the most charming manner. He looked into Sir Bond’s eyes and kissed him on the mouth. “There’s a lesson at which I may best you, good sir knight.”

“I have no doubt,” replied Sir Bond and he nibbled on the king’s bottom lip before kissing him thoroughly. “Shall we have our first lesson early?”

“All the better to master the skill,” said the king.  “’Tis a sensible thought.”

 

~080~

 

The bed was filled with fresh rushes and sandalwood bark; the scent was light but sweet as the two men crawled atop its covers. They lay surrounded by pillows and wrapped their naked bodies around one another, kissing and caressing with mouths and hands. Cool breezes wafted in from the open windows, setting the light linen curtains aflutter and creating gooseflesh over their wet skin. Bond made a point to kiss every droplet on his sovereign’s skin, turning him over onto his back to kiss and lick slowly down the king’s back.

Q sighed contentedly and closed his eyes. He loved the way Bond’s scruff and mouth felt along his spine. The knight had paid close attention to his body’s reactions over the last few months and Sir Bond was now expert in what made the king moan, what made him sigh, and what made him gasp. A nibble to his royal arse cheek did just that. “Ah!” cried the king and he followed it with a laugh.

The king was semi-hard against the bed, his cock filling as he felt the knight probe his tongue between his arse cheeks. The king pressed back against Sir Bond’s face, feeling the wet heat of his tongue against his hole. “So good… Christ… so good, James,” murmured the king. He came up on his knees and spread his cheeks with his hands to give the knight better access. Sir Bond took full advantage.

Sir Bond buried his tongue deep inside his king, wiggling it just a bit. It had its intended result: the king moaned and pressed further back. “More, James,” said Q, breathlessly, “more, you heavenly creature.”

Bond began to hum while he worked, raising his arms above the king’s and letting his hands run along the king’s back, allowing them to come to rest on top of the king’s hands, interlacing his fingers with his sovereign’s. He felt the king squeeze his fingers. He squeezed back.

“God yes, James,” said the king. He was fully erect and throbbing. He had to do something about that. He reached underneath himself to stroke his cock.

“Don’t you dare,” said Bond, pulling away from the king to scold. His hand clasped over the king’s wrist and he kissed the base of the king’s spine roughly, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise.

“God’s blood, James!” said the king.

“’Tis no worry, my sweet Q,” said James. “No one shall see that but me.”

“And my attendants,” the king reminded him.

“Yes,” said Sir Bond, considering the mark upon the king’s skin, “well… you could always call it a sword lesson mishap.”

The king rose to his knees and faced the knight. He pressed his chest to Sir Bond’s and sighed as their cocks brushed one another. “A sword lesson mishap?” the king repeated. He narrowed his eyes at his knight. “And you expect that my attendants will believe such a lie?”

“Your attendants,” Sir Bond began as he wrapped a strong arm around his king’s waist and took hold of both their cocks and stroked slowly enough to stutter both their breath, “Y-your attendants will do as they are instructed by their sovereign lord or wind up at the end of a pike on the castle gates.”

“Good point.” The king cocked his head back for a moment; his eyes closed and he enjoyed the feel of a warm hand and a warm cock. He looked down and watched Sir Bond’s strong hand stroke away, foreskins rising and pulling away in tandem. Sir Bond watched Q as his eyes narrowed and his ruby lips gaped. He leaned in and kissed that succulent mouth, nibbling the bottom lip for good measure.

“We need the oil,” said the king, referring to the small tin he kept in the carven box by his bedside. Sir Bond broke their hold to get it and the king sat on his feet watching that perfect arse with avid interest. “And the glass phallus,” he added.

“The what?” asked Sir Bond, turning his head. The king simply smiled and nodded toward the box. He looked back at the items that were set into the velvet lining. There were phalli of varying sizes and widths, all of which Bond had seen and only one he had used on the king before at his request, but all alone in its own velvet pouch was an item that Sir Bond hadn’t considered. He picked it up, pouch and all and held it aloft. The king nodded and smiled. He tossed the oil tin to his sovereign and slowly removed the item from its soft home.

It was made from a solid piece of blown glass, cool to the touch. Its tip was teardrop shaped and at its thickest point was as big around as a man’s three fingers. It was curved slightly and the glass at the end formed a ring. Sir Bond sucked in a breath at the thought of plunging this inside his king, working it against the pleasure spot he had learned to find so well, and watching him spill his seed against his royal stomach as he came.

He felt soft kisses against his backside. “Your grace?” he asked, turning around.

“I think you need to cum for me tonight, James,” said the king.

“You mean you want to-?” asked Sir Bond.

King Q pressed his lips to the base of Sir Bond’s spine. “I do,” he whispered.

 

~080~

 

Sir Bond sunk his head against the pillows and let the king have his way. Soft kisses and fingertip caresses were answered by keening moans as the king kissed and tongued at Sir Bond’s hole. An oiled finger was followed by two and then three until the knight was begging for the king to end his sweet torture. Slowly the glass phallus was inserted. Sir Bond’s breath stuttered with the pressure of it.

“Breathe for me, my sweet,” whispered the king. “Breathe and bear down.”

He did as ordered and felt the release at his pucker as the bulbous head of glass passed into him. Pressure built inside him. The king moved the instrument slowly in and out with a soft slick sound, rotating it until the head pressed time and again against the knight’s prostate. Waves of blistering pleasure travelled down his legs and his speech left him for a moment. “P-please,” he managed. “I- I-… Q… please.”

Suddenly the king’s soft dark voice was in his ear: “Beg me once more, James. Go on: Beg. Me.”

“Please, your grace,” said Sir Bond.

“On your back, knight,” ordered the king. It was a bit painful with the glass instrument in so delicate a place, but soon Bond was relaxed against the pillows with his knees up and the king’s hot mouth on his cock. It was almost more than he could bear: the stiff prick in his arse, the hot mouth on his manhood. The king hummed as he worked the head, circling his tongue around the corona in the same slow motion as he moved the phallus inside his James. With his one free hand he worked the shaft, brushing along his balls with his fingertips. He felt his balls go tight and the pressure inside him built up. He rode the wave of ecstasy for as long as he could before crying out: “Q! My king!”

Q sat up and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “You are magnificent, James,” he said as he watched the knight catch his breath. A sheen of sweat had formed on them both and Sir Bond watched as a trickle of it lazily made its way down from the king’s collarbone, along his chest, down his belly and stick against his hip. He wanted to lick it. And then he wanted to suck the king’s prick which was stiff and ready, its head red and tantalizing.

“Come to me, angel,” he managed. The king crawled nearer him and the knight lifted up slightly to suck at the left royal hipbone. Nibbling as he pulled off, Sir Bond muttered. “Are you going to pull this thing out of my arse, or do I have to suck your cock before you will be willing?”

The king laughed, tossing his head back in that charming manner of his. He smiled down at his knight and replied: “The suggestion is an excellent one. You may proceed.”

The king slowly undulated his hips into the wet heat of the knight’s mouth, the soft sucking sound of his ministrations lascivious in the sweet summer air. Sir Bond wrapped his strong left arm about his king’s hips, kneading the sovereign’s left arse cheek in the same gentle rhythm. Sir Bond hummed with contentment. The king let out a gasp and stroked a hand through Sir Bond’s hair. His royal head lolled back and his eyes closed.

Sir Bond found that if he rotated his hips, the hard glass phallus would move inside him and create a feeling of tightness and pleasure. It was as if he was sucking the king and getting fucked by him at the same time. The thought caused heat to spread to his belly. He knew he wouldn’t harden again for a bit, but it was a titillating thought for the nonce. He glanced up to see his king watching him carefully. His creamy jade eyes were mere slits, his ruby lips hung open, and his breath came shallow and stuttered.

Sir Bond pulled off his grace’s member long enough to lick the underside of the head, flicking his tongue across the frenulum. The king let out a low moan and cocked his head back. “Beautiful,” murmured Sir Bond before swallowing his king’s cock once more.

Soon they were working faster and faster, chasing the passion that was building inside the king’s veins. “More, more, James,” managed the king. “You glorious man! That’s it. Just like that. Ah!” Sir Bond swallowed down his load reflexively and licked his king’s cock clean.

The phallus slid out of Bond with a gently tug and the king set it aside. He lay next to his lover and each watched the other in silence over the pillows. “I never want to leave this bed,” sighed Sir Bond.

The king smiled gently. “And you never have to, you know.”

“A pleasant thought, your grace,” said the knight, “but I do have my duty-“

“And your duty is to protect the royal person,” finished the king. “And how else will you protect me unless you are always with me?” He traced a fingertip along the knight’s collarbone and down to one nipple. He circled it gently and watched it harden at his touch.

“I shall grant that you have an excellent point, your majesty,” said Sir Bond as he fondly played with the king’s hair, twirling the ends of it around his finger, “but you’ve forgotten one thing.”

“Have I?”

“Quite.”

Feigning annoyance, the king pushed Sir Bond over and pinned his hands above his head at the wrists. He straddled Sir Bond’s waist and bellowed: “Well?! Out with it, rogue! How has your king failed?”

“You’ve forgotten that Lord Gordon might actually find another dragon,” Sir Bond replied, bemused.

“Oh dear gods, let’s hope not,” whispered the king, his words like a prayer.

The knight laughed. ““I may actually have to fight again. I may not be by your side the whole time. His grace doesn’t fancy the prospect of killing another?”

“You’re the only beast I intend to conquer, Sir James Bond,” said the king.

“As you wish, my liege,” said Sir Bond and he let his king kiss him deeply. "My Q."


End file.
